TLC
by Ellery Grey
Summary: After a harrowing case, Scully comes down with a bad case of the flu and tries to deal with the aftermath of the assignment. With Mulder's help of course.
1. Chapter 1

Fox Mulder closed his right eye in order to better focus on his target. He steadied his arm and checked his aim one last time. He didn't want to miss. He took in a deep breath and held it, rolled his wrist in an upward motion, then released the pencil from his grip and watched it sail straight for the ceiling, puncturing the tile on exactly the black circular indenture he had intended.

'Maybe I should make an appointment for my firearms re-certification,' he thought facetiously to himself. He'd had a lot of practice with the pencils in the last seven and a half hours. With no active cases to speak of and all of the paperwork from the last one completed yesterday, there was not much to do other than follow up on leads and reply to e-mails. Which had taken him all of twenty minutes this morning. He quickly double-checked the file folder that contained the completed reports from the previous case, making sure all the forms were filled-out and signed. He glanced at the clock, noting that the work week had exactly thirty minutes left.

He shut down his computer, made sure his desk drawers and file cabinets were locked, donned his coat, grabbed his briefcase and the file folder, then headed for the elevator. One last stop at Skinner's office to drop off the paperwork, and he'd be on his merry way.

'Zippadee Doo Dah.'

Mulder nodded to Kimberly as he walked into the lobby of his boss' office. "He in?" he asked.

"Yes, Agent Mulder, just a second," Kimberly replied as she picked up the phone.

"Oh, no, it's alright, I just came by to drop off the report he asked for." With that, he placed the file on Kimeberly's desk.

"I'll see that he gets it," she said. Once again, Mulder nodded, then headed for the door. He was three steps away from making his exit when he heard the door to Skinner's office swing open.

"Agent Mulder." It was more of a statement than a question. Mulder stopped and turned, summoning every last grain of patience left in his body.

"Sir. I just came by to drop off the Sutton file. Everything's in order and complete."

Skinner, still standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, gave a slight nod of his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "So unless I hear otherwise from you or Agent Scully, I suppose we'll debrief first thing Monday morning."

"Monday morning," Mulder confirmed. But before he could slip away, Skinner spoke once again.

"How is Agent Scully? Have you talked to her today?" He strode over to Kimberly's desk and lifted the file, crossing his arms once more.

Dana Scully had called in sick on two occasions in her time at the FBI. Once when she received her cancer diagnosis a couple years back. Today was the other.

Really, she had insisted, she was fine, just taking a day as a precaution. She had called Mulder the night before. "I'm just exhausted, and I think a three day weekend will give me a chance to catch up on some sleep," she had told him. "Besides, I recall you once telling me that the amount you accomplish without someone nagging you all day is amazing," she had joked in an effort to convince them both that she really was fine.

Mulder hadn't bought it.

The two-week long case they had just finished had taken its toll on his partner. In the six years they had been working together, they had seen some unbearably horrific things. This case could have easily taken the cake. Wayne Sutton was a former surgeon-turned-sociopathic-child-molester who had been tipped off that the two agents were searching for him. Mulder had come across the case after it had filtered through VC and the boys up there had determined it just spooky enough to be deemed an X-File. Sutton had believed he was ushering about the colonization and was attempting to create hybrids by kidnapping children and committing unspeakable crimes against them. When he had learned of Scully's medical background, he had taken full advantage of the knowledge and had left her menacing clues at each crime scene, often in the form of a cryptic riddle or taunting puzzle, ones that only made sense once the tox-screens had come back and a cause of death had been determined.

Mulder had worriedly noted the number of young casualties, some as young as four years old, and had tried to be highly attuned to Scully's physical and emotional state. Not only was she working upwards of sixteen hours a day, she was clearly not sleeping. Mulder knew it was a combination of trying desperately to both figure out Sutton's clues and bear the weight of the loss of such young souls. Cases with children involved were particularly difficult for her.

She hadn't been eating either. Every time he stopped by the lab he would bring her a big meal, only to return hours later with another and see the previous one, untouched, sitting on the counter on the far side of the room. As if that wasn't enough, it was dead winter in the middle of Minnesota, and they had both spent a great deal of time in the cold, damp wilderness. He should have seen it coming when she started coughing and sniffling. What started as a cold had only gotten worse, exacerbated by the lack of food and sleep.

In the end, Sutton was caught in the act, making for a slam-dunk case when paired with all of the physical evidence against him. He had made it a point to call out to Scully while being cuffed, telling her to be ashamed of herself for taking so long to figure him out, that it was her fault that so many had suffered.

Had it not been for the pleading look in her worn eyes as she grabbed him by the arm, Mulder would have saved the good taxpayers of Stearns County the cost of a trial and execution and put a bullet through the sorry son of a bitch himself. One look at her and he knew he had to get her back to the motel.

By the time they had arrived back in Washington, he had insisted on driving her home, but attempts to convince her to take the rest of the week off had fallen on deaf ears. She had shown up on Thursday morning with a cup of coffee in her hand, one that had been refilled several times as the day went on. Between the coughing, sneezing, and blowing of her nose, Mulder didn't know how she got anything done at all. She was dragging all day, and during the lunch hour had opted to lie down on the couch in the rear of the office. Once again, his bids to talk her into eating or taking a half day had gone denied. By the time 5 o'clock had rolled around, he had to fight the temptation to place his hand on her forehead to check for a fever, and instead encouraged her to get some rest and take Friday off.

He was shocked when she actually had. Relieved, but shocked nonetheless.

"No sir, I haven't spoken with her since last night. I was actually planning on stopping by her place on my way home to see how she's doing."

"Tell her I hope she's feeling better. If she needs Monday, tell her to take it. And Mulder?"

"Yes sir?"

"Take care of yourself, too." With that, Skinner walked back into his office and Mulder headed for the parking garage.

•••


	2. Chapter 2

Mulder guided his car out of the bureau parking garage and headed for Scully's. A light snow was falling, and Friday afternoon traffic was not going to be a fun thing to deal with, but Georgetown was happily only three miles away. He picked up his phone and pressed Scully's speed dial. After three rings, she picked up.

"Hello?" she asked, sounding foggy.

"Hey Sunshine," was his answer. "How you feelin'?"

She coughed some and offered up her standard, "I'm fine." Right.

"I'm leaving the office for the day and I was wondering if I could pick you up something to eat?" He could hear her light, albeit stuffed up, breathing on the other end as she pondered his words.

"Is it five already?" She sounded confused, but Mulder took it as a sign that she had been sleeping, like she was supposed to be.

"Just about. I headed out a few minutes early. There was no one there to nag me today, remember?" he smiled. "So, can I bring something by?" As he got closer to Georgetown, he noticed that all of the street lights were out, causing traffic to back up even more so than usual.

"No, thanks, Mulder. I'm fine." He grimaced once more at her reply, but he had told himself already that he wasn't going to smother her over a cold. There went his excuse to stop by and check on her.

"You sure? Chicken soup, a smoothie, some chocolate?" he half jested. Truth be told, he'd bring her Kung Pao chicken straight from China if that's what she wanted.

"It's ok, Mulder, I've got a few things here I can heat up later. Thank you though." The more she spoke, the worse she sounded. He was willing to bet she hadn't eaten all day, and from the sound of it, she could definitely add 'fever' to her list of symptoms. He listened as she started another coughing fit, this time noting that it sounded worse than it had when they were in Minnesota.

"Scully if you change your mind later, if you need *anything,* give me a call." It was all he could do at this point. He fought every impulse in his body to stay on K Street and ignore her wishes, but instead turned off on 23rd to head for his own home. She sounded relatively coherent, and until he suspected otherwise, he wasn't going to act on his overprotective urges.

He could almost see her slight smile. "Alright."

The click that followed told him she had hung up. As Mulder pulled on to the Teddy Roosevelt bridge, he noted that the snow was falling at a faster rate and was starting to accumulate on the roads. He hadn't had much time to pay attention to the weather forecast since they'd gotten back into town, but it looked like this storm was going to pack a good punch. Stopped in traffic over the Potomac, he resigned himself to a Friday night of take out and sci-fi movie reruns. And of trying to stop worrying about his partner.

***


	3. Chapter 3

Mulder lie on his couch, one arm behind his head, the other resting dually on his stomach and the remote. His head was tilted towards the glow of the TV, which was screening an old science fiction movie with a laughable plot, and the acting to match. Numerous half-eaten take out containers were resting on the coffee table, chopsticks peeking out of the rice container. In a gray t-shirt and black jogging pants, he was debating getting up to switch on the heater, as the Navajo blanket he was under wasn't quite keeping him warm enough. As the credits began to roll, he propelled himself off the soft leather and padded towards the thermostat. Setting it to 68, he walked back to the TV and switched on the Knicks game. Down by 12 already, in just the first quarter. He lowered the volume and peeked out the blinds. Sure enough, there were a good two inches or so of snow on the ground, and more was falling, at a faster rate than earlier in the evening.

It had only been a little over two hours since he had talked to Scully, so calling was not an option. She'd be less than enthused, to put it mildly. He opted for picking up his basketball and began to dribble through the apartment. Anything to keep his mind off of her.

When the phone rang two minutes later, he assumed it was Mr. Fierre from downstairs calling to complain about the noise. "Yeah. Sorry," he grunted into the receiver. As he was hanging up, he heard her voice. Small and slight, but it was there, calling his name. "Scully?" he asked quietly, trying to tamp down the mild panic that was rising in his chest. He could hear her teeth chattering as she wheezed on the other end.

"Mulder?" she asked timidly.

"Yeah, Scully, I'm here." He waited with bated breath for her to continue.

"Mulder, can I come over? The power in my building went out this afternoon, and I can't get warm over here," she managed to get out, teeth chattering and interrupted by a coughing fit.

'Christ!' he thought. If her power had gone out this afternoon, it had to be freezing in that apartment. He moved to the window and looked out once more. There was no way he was going to let her drive in the conditions outside, especially in her state of health. "Scully, I'm coming to get you, stay put. Can you bundle up until I get there?"

"Yeah." She sounded as if she would burst into tears at any moment. "Please hurry, Mulder."

Those last three words tugged at Mulder's heart. For one, it was so unlike his independent partner to ask for help, even when she needed it. For another, when she had used those words in the past, sparingly as it was, the situation had not been good. He threw the phone onto the couch and scrambled to get on his shoes, gun, and a warm jacket before bolting out the door, setting the thermostat even higher on his way out.

As he merged into traffic on the highway, Mulder spared no curse word its dignity upon seeing the slow-moving masses. He decided to weave his way in and out of the gridlock, and in doing so was certain he had elicited every known obscenity from his fellow motorists as well. If Scully had been in the car, she would have had a few for him too. As he neared I-66, he was relieved to see traffic flowing much more smoothly. Exiting the freeway, he noticed immediately that the street lights were blinking, as they had been on his way home from work. "One sorry son of a bitch," he said to himself, echoing Bill Scully's words from a couple years ago and, not for the first time since they'd been uttered, agreed wholeheartedly with them. He should have insisted on stopping by after work, and this whole situation could have been avoided. Instead, he weaved his way through the familiar streets and pulled up in front of her building in a record nine and a half minutes. Not that he'd been counting.

Taking the steps up to her building by two, he jogged up the walk and into the hallway, knocking at her door just a tad more urgently than he had meant to. When there was no response, he used his key to let himself inside. It was completely dark in the apartment, save for several candles burning on the coffee table in the living room. There was a definite chill in the air, and there was no Scully to be found in the living room. "Scully?" he called out. No reply. He walked tentatively towards the bedroom, noting the arrangement of lit candles in the bathroom as he passed by. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar, and he tapped softly on it, just in case. "Scully?" he called, softly this time, while slowly opening the door. Still more candles illuminated the room with just enough light to see.

"Mulder?" It was barely there, but it was a response. She was curled up underneath her covers, shivering visibly and clutching her phone tightly in her hand. She wore no make up and her face was pale, lightly dusted with freckles he couldn't normally see under her foundation. Her hair was sopping wet and was sprawled over her pillow in a flowing mess of waves. His heart shattered at the sight of her, and he wanted nothing more than to climb into the bed with her and hold her.

He knelt down next to the bed and reached a hand out to brush a wet tendril of hair out of her face. The dripping strand was like ice on his fingers. It was a harsh contrast from the fiery heat coming off her forehead. "Scully," he whispered, "why is your hair all wet?"

Her face started to crumble before she got anything out. "I was so c-c-cold Mu Mulder," she stammered, fighting tears. "I got in the shower to try and w-warm up, and I wasn't th-thinking and I washed my hair b-b-but my blow dryer won't work because the p-power is out, and---"

"Shhh," he interrupted, still stroking her hair, "okay, okay. It's alright. Try and take some deep breaths for me, ok?" His panic was barely contained and he fought to keep control so he could be strong for her. "We're gonna get you someplace warm and let you rest. Just try and relax. I'm gonna get a few things together first though, if that's okay." Scully nodded, still putting up a brave fight. "Okay, give me five minutes and we're outta here." At that, he hurriedly grabbed some pajamas, jogging pants, her dark blue NAVY sweatshirt, a pair of slippers, and several pairs of clean underwear and socks, then threw them into the overnight bag he found in her closet. Dashing to the bathroom, he reached for her toothbrush, shampoo, and bubble bath, tossing the items into the bag as well. For good measure he reached under the medicine cabinet and grabbed her medical kit, which was also promptly joined the rest of the bag's contents. Anything else she would need he either had at his place or he could run and pick up later on. He blew out the candles in the bathroom on his way out.

"Alright, Scully, can you get up?" He moved to the bed to help her sit. It was slow going, and she was shaking like a leaf, but she was able to get up and he helped her get her tennis shoes on. Dressed in a pair of thick blue flannel pajama pants and a white thermal top, Mulder bundled her up in her trench coat and a scarf. Before heading out the door, he had second thoughts, and, removing his own jacket, threw it onto his partner, disregarding the sleeves. He zipped it up and raised the hood in an attempt to warm her head. He once again stopped to blow out all the candles, this time in both her bedroom and living room. He carried her bag in one hand and gently placed the other on the small of her back.

"I'm right out front," he told her. For once, mercifully, parking hadn't been an issue. He ushered her into the car and buckled her seatbelt for her. Tucking everything else into the backseat, he resumed the wheel once more and blasted the heat, pointing all of the vents at his still-shivering partner. He placed a hand on her knee as he once again navigated the snow-covered streets of the greater-D.C. area and let out a sigh of relief. "Alright, Scully. You're gonna be alright... Everything's alright."

He hoped.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Mulder had pulled onto the interstate, Scully had fallen alseep. He was hyper-vigilant in watching the road because of the snow, but he stole a glance at his partner every couple minutes, noting that she had finally stopped shivering and now seemed more relaxed. He too was slightly more calm, and the drive back to his apartment was much less frantic than the one from it. He knew she had to have been feeling bad to call in sick to work in the first place, but then to call him this evening must have meant she was feeling awful. Dana Scully wasn't one to show weakness willingly, even to the partner that she trusted more than anyone. His heart was overwhelmed suddenly with a sense of protectiveness and love towards her, knowing that she trusted and had faith in him to make everything all right again.

As he slowly steered the car back to his apartment, he tried to think clearly about the steps he would have to take once he got Scully inside. She had a cold, maybe the flu, that much was obvious. His guess was that she hadn't eaten in a while, if at all today, so he would have to try and get her to eat something. The last thing he knew for certain that she had eaten was half of a turkey sandwich at the airport on Wednesday night, and she had only relented after he had threatened, begged, and pleaded. Keeping her hydrated and warm, and letting her rest, were important too. He was determined to help her start feeling better as soon as possible, so that when she uttered those infamous words--"I'm fine"--she really would be.

***

Twenty minutes after they had left Scully's apartment, Mulder pulled up in front of his building. His partner was still asleep in the passenger seat, the exhaustion of the past two weeks etched into her features. He cut the engine and got out of the car, walking around to open Scully's door to get her out. He opened the door and crouched down to wake her up, gently pushing a wet strand of hair out of her face. His actions caused her to rouse slightly.

"Hey, Scully, we're here. Let's get you upstairs."

She mumbled something unintelligible, unable to keep her eyes open longer than a flutter.

"Alright. Here we go." Realizing she didn't have the energy to get out on her own, he placed one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, gently lifting her small frame out of the car and placing her feet on the curb while he grabbed her bag and shut the door. Scully's arms were wrapped around his neck, as tightly as she could get them in her weakened state. Rather than giving her the choice to walk, Mulder decided to just get her into his apartment and he scooped her back up, bag and all. The fact that she snuggled closer to his chest and didn't protest being carted inside made him worry a bit more.

He walked quickly up to the entrance of his building, using his right hand, the one supporting her knees, to open the door. Though she was bulky--wearing two large jackets--Scully weighed almost nothing, and he easily made his way to the elevator, punching the 'up' arrow with much more force than was needed. He was still on edge, despite having gotten her back to his place. The adrenaline rush that had started with her pleading phone call had yet to wear off completely. Riding the elevator to the fourth floor, he made a conscious effort to relax and start thinking more clearly.

For her part, Scully was passed out in his arms, blissfully unaware of anything and everything around her. Mulder fumbled for his keys when he reached his apartment. It took a great deal of balance and a level of coordination he wasn't sure he possessed until that moment, but he managed to wiggle the key into the lock and get the door open, all without waking his partner. His worries went up yet another notch.

He dropped her bag onto his bedroom floor and placed her gently on his bed. He sat next to her and began taking his jacket off of her. "Okay Scully," he said, though he didn't know if she could hear him or not. "We're gonna get you nice and warm and you'll be feeling better before you know it."

"Mmmuuuhhhhlllll..." she slurred, her eyes fluttering and her head slowly moving from side to side. He lifted her torso up to remove the jacket and kept her in a sitting position to remove her trench coat as well.

"Shhh." Mulder gently shushed her. He tossed both of the jackets over the end of the bed, to be hung up later, and lied her back down. She was left in her long-sleeved thermal top and flannel pajama bottoms, the same ones he had found her in upon arrival at her apartment. Within seconds, she was shivering again.

His heart broke for her. He had seen her like this once before, in Antarctica. Granted, that whole situation had been much more intense, but seeing her shake with the chills, hair drenched, skin pale, and teeth chattering sent him right back to those damned coordinates he would never be able forget.

The four hour CPR/First Aid course he had taken two months ago to fulfill his annual requirement for the bureau might as well have been two decades ago. He tended to forget how much he relied on his partner for medical knowledge until it was she who needed it.

'Fever. See how high her fever is,' he thought to himself. He got up and grabbed the bag sitting on the hardwood by the bedroom door and pulled out the medical bag, searching for a thermometer.

"Hey Scully," he said gently, sitting back down on the bed. "I'm gonna take your temperature. Can you--" Before he could finish his request, her lips had parted just enough for him to slip the thermometer in. While he waited for the beeps, he placed his hand on her forehead. He didn't need a five dollar piece of technology to tell him it was high. The heat radiating off of her skin was in stark contrast to cold of her hair. He moved his hand down to wipe the silent tears that were starting to flow slowly from her still-closed eyes. "It's gonna be alright Scully," he soothed. "We're gonna have you feeling better in no time."

The thermometer beeped. 102.8. 'Shit shit shit shit shit. Tylenol. Get her some Tylenol.' He reached back into her medical bag and produced the bottle of Tylenol he knew would be in it. He quickly shook out two pills and went to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. She swallowed the pills that he offered and he held the glass while she continued to slowly sip.

"We've got to get you cooled off Scully," he said, not really expecting much of a response. He knew enough to know that she was teetering on the brink of requiring medical attention.

"S'bad?" she asked, her eyes bleary and trying desperately to focus.

"No, it's not too bad. But I'm not gonna let it get any worse." The first part was a lie. He hoped the second wasn't. It wasn't so much the fever that scared him, high as it was, it was the slew of other symptoms she was presenting: confusion, slurred speech, drowsiness, and chills. A high fever on its own would generally not be too terribly alarming, but throw in those other problems, and he knew he couldn't take many chances trying to get her well on his own.

He had worked with Scully long enough to pick up his fair share of medical insight, and he knew her symptoms indicated a viral infection: the flu. Physically and emotionally drained from the past two weeks and having not taken care of herself meant she was going to have a hard time fighting this bug.

"Whhuzzit?" she questioned, her eyebrow arching in true Scully fashion. He had to smile at that. She knew he was lying and was calling his bluff.

"Just over 102," he replied, stretching the truth and standing up before she could question him any further. "I'm gonna go get a cold compress for you. When was the last time you ate anything?" She closed her eyes and her brow furrowed as she tried to think. He could see the frustration streak across her features. "Nevermind, Scully, we'll take care of that in a little while. I'll be right back." He strode to the bathroom and pulled a clean washcloth out of the linen closet. He quickly ran it under the cold water in the sink and wrung out the excess.

"Okay, here we go." He sat back down on the side of his bed and placed the cool, wet cloth on her forehead. She shivered even more in protest, trying to draw the covers up over her. "Scully, I know you're cold, but you can't cover up. You're temperature needs to come down a little first." He smoothed her hair in an attempt to comfort her as more tears began to slide down her flushed cheeks. As miserable and foggy as she was, she nodded in agreement, acknowledging the facts even though she didn't like them. 'Ever the logical one,' Mulder thought to himself.

"Is it okay if I roll your sleeves up Scully?" He wanted to expose as much of her skin as possible in order to help her fever down. She nodded again and he reached first for her shirt sleeves, carefully pushing the dimpled fabric up over her elbows. She was shaking like a leaf and goosebumps covered her blanched skin. He turned and went to work on her pajama pants, rolling each pant leg up above her knee. More shivering and goosebumps followed.

"You okay?" he asked gingerly.

Though her physical appearance betrayed it, she nodded, through still more silent tears. If his heart hadn't already been shattered into a million tiny pieces earlier in the evening, it would have at that moment. When he spoke, he fought the knot rising in his throat.

"Okay. I'll be right back Scully. If you need anything, gimme a holler, I'll be in the kitchen. Just don't pull the blankets up" He started walking out of his bedroom, then turned when he reached the doorway. She looked tiny lying in the middle of his bed, as if the crisp white sheets had swallowed her up. Each of the million tiny pieces of his heart shattered into their own million tiny pieces.

***


	5. Chapter 5

In the kitchen, Mulder hurriedly began looking through his junk drawer for the Bernie's take-out menu. Locating it under the various knick-knacks and other piles of paper, he quickly pulled it out and reached for the phone. A cheery voice answered, one that was much too chipper for the mood he was in. He placed his order, 2 bowls of chicken soup and a reuben for delivery. Thirty to forty-five minutes, due to the storm.

He hung up the phone and walked back to his bedroom, finding his partner exactly as he had left her, still shivering and still with tears rolling down her cheeks. He once again sat perched on the bed, stroking her hair. "I'm so sorry Mulder," she stammered, eyes closed and brow furrowed in frustration.

He was completely perplexed. "What in the world are you sorry for, Scully?" He turned towards her, lying down on his side next to her, careful to give her enough space.

Her whole body rocked with the sob that followed. He tentatively and carefully gathered her into his arms, aching to comfort her but terrified she would withdraw. She put up no fight. Her shoulders were quaking and she couldn't get the words out without slurring wildly. "I'm just... sorry, Mulder. I should have taken better care of myself, and...I'm sorry for making you take care of me..." Her sentence was cut off by the tears she couldn't stop.

"No, Scully," he said gently. "I want you to take a deep breath and look at me." He could tell she wasn't being completely truthful with him, that she was holding something back. He suspected she was feeling a great degree of guilt over the case they had just finished, but he wasn't going to push the issue. If she decided to talk about it, he would listen patiently and help her work through those feelings, but it had to be up to her. Regardless, it was obvious now that she was not just physically sick; she was suffering psychological affects from the case. Not that he blamed her--it had been a living hell. When her sobs quieted, he spoke again. "Open your eyes Scully," he gently prodded. "Look at me."

When she complied, he was stunned to see that her eyes, normally a deep sapphire blue, had turned to an almost-emerald green. "I want you to listen to me, Scully. Take a deep breath." Before he could start, he had to get her to calm down a bit. She took a few breaths, trying desperately to breathe deeply at his request. Her earlier sobs had given way to sniffles and hiccups. She was finally able ti take a couple of deep breaths, and he slowly rubbed her upper back while she relaxed. "Listen to me," he said after a few moments. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about." He cut her off with his words when she tried to interrupt. "No, listen. First of all, you can't blame yourself for getting sick. We were in Minnesota in the middle of winter, pulling ridiculous hours and working off of very little sleep. And you are NOT making me do anything. I WANT to take care of you, Scully. You're my partner, but you're also my friend."

He had continued to stroke her hair softly as he spoke, and her tears had started flowing a bit more frequently once again, but she seemed to be convinced by his speech. She inched closer to him until her head was cradled on his shoulder and chest, letting the cool wet cloth slide off of her forehead. He wrapped his arms around her back and held her snugly to him, replacing the cloth onto the side of her brow.

"Thank you Mulder," she said through sniffles.

"Of course. Now go to sleep, Scully." He dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Within minutes, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, finally letting the exhaustion get the best of her, feeling safe and secure in her partner's arms.

***


	6. Chapter 6

The knock at his door an hour later startled Mulder and he jolted, stilling himself when he realized his partner was dozing in his arms. He was confused for a split second, then remembered why they were situated the way they were. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but was relieved that she had. He slowly detangled his arms from around her and got up as quietly as possible, reluctantly leaving her to answer the incessant banging of the delivery guy.

He walked into the living room, picking up his wallet on the way to the door, and peered out the peep hole to make sure it was indeed someone from Bernie's. "Two chicken soups and a reuben." Mulder forked over a twenty and mumbled at the kid to keep the change. He made his way into the kitchen and fumbled through the cupboards and drawers until he found a clean bowl and spoon. He poured half of one soup container's contents into the bowl and headed back to his bedroom.

She lay in the middle of his bed, her blue pajama bottoms rolled up past her knees and thermal sleeves bunched up above her elbows. He could see a fine sheen of sweat coating her exposed skin, which told him she was fighting the fever. 'That's my girl,' he thought to himself, vaguely aware of the thought of her as 'his' in the back of his mind. He ignored the thought for the time being and kneeled down next to the bed, setting the soup on the nightstand. He didn't want to wake her, but it was best that she get some fluids in her system. He gently brushed the hair behind her ear and whispered her name.

"Scully?"

Her eyes fluttered and she fought greatly to open them. "Muuhhller?" she asked, sounding incredibly confused. She had been sleeping for over an hour and had woken up in a haze fueled by illness and exhaustion.

"It's ok. It's ok." From the wrinkle in her brow he could tell she wasn't quite sure where she was or what was going on. Not surprising, considering the fact that his bedroom had only been functional for the past couple of years. Not that it had seen any action... But that was neither here nor there.

"It's ok, Scully, you're at my place." Her eyes closed in acknowledgment and reopened with slightly more focus to look at her partner. "You think you can eat some soup?" The befuddled look on her face quickly turned into one of mock alarm. He chuckled and explained. "It's ok, delivery from Bernie's." She gave a look of relief and he was encouraged to see that she still had her sense of humor about her, even feeling as bad as she was. "Let me help you sit up." He propped two pillows up against the headboard, and it took her a minute, but she was able to sit up on her own. He let her scoot back to lean against the pillows, but he was prepared to catch her should she tump over unexpectedly. Once she was settled, he reached for the bowl once again and offered it to her. With shaky hands, she accepted it and looked down at it.

"I'm not too hungry Muller," she stated, still slurring slightly.

"I figured. Just eat what you can, Scully. Take a few sips of the broth at least." She nodded and raised the bowl to her lips and blew on the steaming liquid in an attempt to cool it off slightly. Satisfied that she was stable and going to try to eat, Mulder walked around to the other side of the bed and sat down on it cross-legged, his back to the foot. He leaned back, propping himself up by supporting his weight on the palms of his hands. With the rim of the bowl perched between her lips, Scully took a small sip of the soup and swallowed.

As they sat in a comfortable silence, Mulder was able to steal glances at her now and then, as she focused on her soup. Working with her for as many years as he had, he of course had noticed that she was small in stature. Her size had been both a blessing and a curse throughout their partnership. He recalled the case during their first year of partnership when he had asked her to climb into the air ducts of the Eurisko Building so he could destroy a killer computer. There was also the case a few years later involving Leonard Betts and his ability to regenerate his own body parts. He wanted to cringe as he remembered his diminutive partner asking him to use his longer arms to help her dig through the human waste disposal at the hospital during that investigation. Her height definitely had its advantages and disadvantages out in the field.

Sitting on his bed with her, her arms and legs exposed, he realized anew just how truly tiny she was. He was so accustomed to seeing her with three-inch heels and professional clothing on that it was easy to forget how petite she was. On the sporadic occasions that he had seen her in her pajamas or casual clothes, he had been taken slightly off guard by her height. Now, on his king size bed, she was dwarfed even more than usual, vulnerable and weak due to the flu raging within her body.

Mulder felt another wave of tenderness towards her surge inside of him. He had long ago stopped denying to himself that he was completely, totally, head-over-heels in love with her, but acknowledging the fact didn't make it any easier to deal with. The only thing that kept him from acting on his amorous feelings towards her was their current relationship. To him, nothing was more precious or valuable than Scully's friendship, and he was not willing to risk it, even if that meant never acting on his true feelings for her. As much as he treasured her partnership and companionship, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the love he had for her on a day-to-day basis.

He was snapped out of his reverie by his partner's voice. "Ss'really good, Mulder, but I don't think I can eat anymore." He nodded and took the bowl from her hands, watching the relief wash over her face as she no longer had to hold the soup. He set the bowl on the nightstand closest to him, but not before noting that it looked like she hadn't eat any of it. He was discouraged, but didn't want to force her to eat. He helped her lie back down, once again not letting her cover up so that the heat radiating off of her would have a chance to escape. She tried to protest at first, but quickly realized she wouldn't win and, lacking the energy, decided to just give in. Mulder took the washcloth and re-wet it under the faucet. He returned to see his partner shivering once more.

"Here Scully," he said as he gently placed the cool cloth on her forehead again. The warmth he felt on her skin was still unsettling, so he reached for the thermometer again. "I'm gonna take your temperature again." The Tylenol should have kicked in by now, but judging by the way she felt, he was starting to think it wasn't doing its job. He read the instrument after it beeped and tried not to let his concern show through. He was pretty sure he failed. The panic face he had shown her in Dallas just last year was plastered over his features.

"Whatisit?" she asked, the three words blending into one in a barely coherent question.

"It's a little higher than last time," he stated. '103.1. Not good.' His mind was racing. The Tylenol wasn't bringing her fever down at all, which was a problem. He needed to get her to drink more fluids. He had a sudden thought and hoped she'd go along with it.

"Scully, let's get you in the tub." It wasn't really a statement, but more of a suggestion. He wasn't sure how she'd react, but he knew they had to take action in order to get her fever to subside.

For her part, Scully had a look of mild panic on her face. "What's my temp, Mulder?" she questioned.

He looked at her sheepishly. "103.1. The Tylenol isn't working."

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill over again. He started to reassure her immediately though, as he didn't want to see her cry anymore.

"It's gonna be ok, Scully. We're gonna get your temperature down and you're gonna be feeling better real soon." He was stroking her hair and wiping the tears that were sliding down her face at a much faster rate than they had before. All Scully could do was nod in compliance and try valiantly to fight the tears that she had no control over. "Alright, you sit tight, I'm gonna go run the bath. Can I get you anything?"

She shook her head. "Thanks, Mulder," she said, giving him the tiniest of smiles, the best she could manage. He rose to his feet and kissed her once again on the forehead, again alarmed by its heat, then headed for the bathroom.

***


	7. Chapter 7

The tub was quickly filled to Mulder's satisfaction. He shut off the faucet and double-checked the temperature of the water, making sure it wasn't too warm or too cool. He had dumped a capful of her bubble bath in with the running water, and it smelled heavenly. Confirming that the water was tepid, he went back into his bedroom. "Alright, Scully. Let's get you in the tub." Rather than let her try and get up herself, he scooped her up in his arms once more. She didn't fight it, but instead wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her, nuzzling her head ever-so-slightly into his chest. "Don't get used to this, Scully," he joked. His heart leapt and he chuckled when she gave him what she could manage of a genuine, full-toothed smile upon hearing his words.

Inside the bathroom, he set her down to sit on top of the toilet. He crouched down to kneel in front of her and took her hands in his. "You think you can take it from here, Scully?"

She nodded slowly, and Mulder noted the glazed-over look she had in her eyes. He was unsure about leaving her alone, but he was also hesitant to stay with her. "There's a towel right here on the counter. I'm gonna be right outside the door; if you need anything, just say so." She nodded again, indicating she understood, but Mulder wasn't totally convinced. Not seeing any other choice, he got up and went into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him. He fought the urge to place his ear up against the door, knowing she would certainly not appreciate the invasion of privacy. He was amazed that she had tolerated his hovering up to this point without putting up any kind of fight. This fact also concerned him.

He turned his focus to figuring out what to do once she got out of the bath. He had packed an extra pair of pajamas in the bag he had thrown together before leaving her apartment. They were also long-sleeved, and he wondered if it would just be better to put her in a pair of his basketball shorts with one of his t-shirts. He quickly decided that was also something he didn't want to think about, but for an entirely different reason. He was leaning with his back against the wall opposite the bathroom door, concentrating with his eyes closed, when he heard her. Barely.

"Mulder... Mulder..."

"Scully?" he called softly, moving closer to the door. When she didn't answer, he knocked softly as a warning, then turned the knob and opened the door. He found her in essentially the same way he had left her. Essentially, as she was shivering almost violently, still sitting on the toilet seat, fully clothed. She hadn't even been able to move from the spot. "Jesus," he whispered, dropping to his knees in front of her again. Her eyes were wide open, but she couldn't focus them. Sweat was beginning to sheen on her brow. With one hand he grabbed her upper arm to hold her steady, with the other he felt her forehead. Her skin was on fire. He wasn't going to wait any more.

"Okay, Scully, here we go," he said as he picked her up once again, lifting her off the seat and slowly lowering her into the tub, still fully clothed in her pajamas. The water rose to the tops of her breasts, and the white thermal top she was wearing was just thin enough to reveal the pinks of her nipples, but thick enough to blur them so that he could only see the outline. The bubbles helped obscure the view as well. He mentally chastised himself for even looking at all, and turned his attention back to her face.

Her lids were heavy and he could tell she was starting to become delirious. He hoped and prayed in that moment that he could bring her fever down at home, and that they could avoid the hospital. He would do whatever was needed to get her well again, but they both hated hospitals. Too many times they had sat at each others' bedside, pinning their hopes on one more chance, and had somehow come out of it each time basically unscathed, with a few scars to show for it here and there. Too many bad memories. He decided to keep trying to lower her fever for another hour or two, but that after that he would have to get medical help for her if he was unsuccessful. She had stopped shivering once she had gotten in the tub though, and Mulder felt some relief at that small victory.

She began mumbling unintelligibly, her words coming out sluggishly and nonsensically. He could make out a few words here and there. "Muuhlllller..."

"I'm right here, Scully. I've got you, I'm right here." He wasn't sure what was going on, but he tried his best to reassure her as he ran another washcloth over her skin. He dipped it in the water and began gently wiping her face, still stained with faint tear streaks and sweat. His words seemed to have no effect on her, and she grew more and more restless, her voice getting slightly louder each time she said his name.

"Muuhllllllerr... Muuuhhhhhllllller." Even through her exhaustion, he could tell she was starting to panic.

It was obvious now that she was delirious. He continued to reassure her by speaking softly to her and occasionally running his hand through her hair while he continued his ministrations with the washcloth.

"Faster," she said, her brow furrowed and a look of dread across her face.

"It's okay Scully," he replied. "We're gonna take it nice and slow. Just relax."

"Faster, no..." she murmured desperately. Her breathing was becoming ragged.

He was becoming more and more confused. "Scully, it's ok. Try to relax."

Tears began to run down her cheeks once again. Mulder was starting to feel defeated. Perhaps an hour or two was too long to wait to get her to a doctor. "Please," she choked out in a whisper. "Faster, you're supposed to be dead."

In an instant, his heart jumped violently into his throat and his stomach tightened into a burning knot. He felt as though the floor had given way underneath him. Waves of nausea started rippling through him, and he felt tears begin to sting his eyes.

She wasn't saying 'faster.' She was saying 'Pfaster.'

She was hallucinating and thought that Donnie Pfaster was bathing her, like he had done to all of his victims, like he had attempted to do to her.

His response was immediate. "No, no no no no no, Scully." Mulder softly tilted her chin with his index finger, turning her head to make her look directly at him. Glassy-eyed and resisting his efforts, he wasn't sure if she would understand him, but he had to try. "Scully, look at me. Scully--Dana. Dana, it's me, it's Mulder. It's Fox Mulder."

"Pfaster, please, leave them alone! Don't hurt them! They're just babies. Don't hurt the babies!" She was near-hysterical at this point, begging with a desperation so intense it scared him, and it seemed to Mulder that she was now blending the actions of Sutton, the child murderer from their most recent case, with those of Pfaster. Ironic that they were both native-Minnesotans.

'So help me God,' he thought, 'I'm never letting her set foot in that state ever again.'

"Pfaster, don't hurt them," she continued, whispering harshly once more. "Take me instead."

That did it. Fox Mulder could have died right then and there from the pain wrenched in his chest at the utterance of those words. Donnie Pfaster had shaken his partner to the core while they had been working that case. To hear her beg him, even in a delusion, to spare the children she was imagining him hurting, to take her in their place, was more than he could bear. It also spoke volumes about her character--as much as he was disturbed by what was going on, he was in awe of his partner's resolve to protect others from this perceived evil, offering herself in spite of her distress and the sheer terror she was feeling. How precious this woman was to him, even more so now than ever before. Sadness, heartbreak, and anger gripped his heart like a vice and made it hard for him to breathe. He had to work to maintain his composure.

"Scully." His voice was more firm than it had been in his previous attempts to break her of her reverie, yet still gentle so as to avoid startling her. "Dana, l want you to look at me." When she didn't immediately respond, Mulder draped the washcloth over the side of the tub and calmly took her face in his hands. "Scully," he whispered, looking her right in the eye, tears threatening to spill from his eyes and pouring from hers.

A gleam of recognition sparked in her eyes and he felt relief almost instantly. "Mulller?" she questioned, seeming confused.

"Yeah, it's Mulder. I've got you, you're in my apartment, and you're safe. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." She nodded and seemed satisfied with that, and calmed significantly. He was shaken, but continued sponging her down with the cloth, running it over her arms and legs, and gently over the features of her face. Her hair, which had dried completely since they had gotten to his place, was once again wet at the tips and around her face. The rest of it was an array of auburn waves, flowing freely from her head.

Mulder continued rinsing her while she seemed to come slowly back to reality. The tightness he had felt in his chest was beginning to ease, and he too was starting to feel better. It seemed as though her fever had finally broken, reaching its terrifying climax in her both physically and psychologically. Her eyes drooped even more heavily now, and for a moment he could have sworn she had fallen asleep sitting up right there in the tub. He decided after a several minutes that the water was beginning to get just a bit too cold, that it was time to get her out before she started getting chills again.

"Scully," he asked gingerly.

"Hmmm?" Her eyes remained closed, but both eyebrows arched just noticeably.

"Time's up, we've gotta get you out of the tub."

Her eyes did open then, and, to his great relief, the empty look in them had disappeared. She looked more exhausted now than even before, but he would take the exchange gladly. "Hey," he whispered to her with a smile, exceedingly happy that she was no longer having delusions.

"Hey," she answered breathlessly, a faint smile crossing her lips. Had he not known her so well, he might have missed it. Mulder wasn't sure how much of the past several minutes she remembered, but he was not prepared to question her about what had transpired just yet. If he did broach the subject, it would have to be delicately, when she was making more progress toward becoming well. He wondered absently if the trauma she had suffered during Sutton case was somehow manifesting itself through flashbacks of other trying times Scully had experienced while working with him. Pfaster was someone he hadn't thought of in a very long time, and it was apparent now that Scully had not completely gotten over that case either. Feeling tears begin to fill his eyes yet again, Mulder gathered his wits about him and reminded himself to focus on Scully's present physical needs. They could work through the psychological ones later.

They could and they would.

His focus shifted back to getting her out of the bath. "Here's what I'm gonna do," he said, thinking on the spot. In truth, he had no plan, but he would wing it so he could be strong for her. "On the count of three, I'm gonna get you out of the tub. Ready?" At her nod, he bent down, counted, picked her up, and set her down softly on the tile of the floor. He spun around to grab the towel on the counter and covered her up with it. "Sit right there for a second, ok?" He ran to his bedroom and pulled out a clean pair of his basketball shorts and an undershirt, then hurried back to her side.

She now appeared much more lucid and was no longer sweating or shivering. He was relieved. He knew she wasn't out of the woods yet, but it was a good start. He set the new clothes on the toilet seat and turned back to his partner. Squatting on his haunches, he began to pull her shirt sleeves back down her arms, the sopping fabric resisting his efforts and making him work to reach his goal. There was no easy way to go about this, so he decided to be an adult and just deal with it. Nothing he hadn't done or seen before, but he still felt like he was violating her in some way.

"You trust me Scully?" he asked, already knowing the answer. It didn't matter though, he needed her reassurance. When she nodded, he quickly went to work. 'Keep it together ol' boy,' he thought to himself. In seconds, her wet top was off of her. He quickly but delicately dried her torso off with the towel, doing his damndest to avoid looking at her chest. It was a bittersweet torture and he hated himself for even thinking the way that he was. He reached behind him and grabbed the clean white t-shirt, slipping it over her head and getting her arms through. He quickly did the same with her pajama pants after standing her up and supporting her weight. Mercifully, his t-shirt was long enough on her to cover her up, and his shorts were on her in no time flat. He had to pull the drawstrings on the waistband as tight as they would go, and even then they barely hung on to her hips. In spite of everything, he was rather proud of himself for making it through the change of clothes with relatively little complication.

He sat her down on the toilet seat once again, and he pulled the plug from the drain and threw the towel on the floor where she had been sitting. Her sopping clothes were piled there too. He would deal with the cleanup later.

"Mulder?" she questioned softly. Once again, he could hear mild panic in her voice and felt his heart speed up. He turned to face her.

"What is it Scully?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"I think I'm gonna... Ohh..." That was all she needed to say. Her words, combined with the look on her face, told him that she was about to throw up. In one smooth motion, he gathered her off of the toilet seat, lifted the lid, and sat down on the floor, holding her between his legs. As she began to lose it, he carefully gathered her hair in his hand and held it so it was out of her way. He rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her, his heart aching to take this illness from her body and make her healthy once again. In the back of his mind though, he knew that vomiting was a good sign, that her body was working to purge the infection from her system. He could also tell from the close contact that the bath had helped lower her temperature, though he still wanted an accurate reading from the thermometer. Despite the commotion of the moment, he was relieved.

When she finished, she leaned back against him, her head resting on his chest. He could tell she was depleted of all energy and decided to let her rest for a few minutes before moving her back to his bed. He wrapped his arms protectively around her shoulders to both comfort her and ward off any chills. Without realizing at first, he dusted the top of her head with feather-light kisses, inhaling the scent of her shampoo from earlier combined with that of the bubble bath she had just soaked in. She relaxed into him and sighed, letting him support the full brunt of her weight.

"Sorry, Mulder," she said slowly and heavy-lidded, but for the first time all evening without much of a slur.

He chuckled softly at her words and stopped his soft pecks on her hair. "Would you stop with the apologizing?" It was a light-hearted rhetorical question, but she replied anyway.

"I'll try. Thank you."

His next words were spoken softly, whispered in her ear. "Of course. You know I would do anything for you Scully. Besides," he added lightheartedly, "I'd take your puke over a good majority of fluids we run into in the field ANY day."

He couldn't see her face, but he could tell she was smiling. "Gee, Mulder, you sure know how to make a girl feel special," she quipped. He couldn't help but smile either. God, it was good to banter with her again. He felt the tension and fear he had been experiencing for the good part of the day begin to subside.

It was obvious that she still was not feeling well, but it seemed as though her fever had broken and that the worst of that symptom was behind them. Now it would be a battle to keep her hydrated, warm, and well-rested.

And, God help him, he was going to get her to work through the horror of this case.

***


	8. Chapter 8

Several minutes passed as Mulder and Scully sat on his bathroom floor, Scully resting her back completely against Mulder's chest, his arms draped around her shoulders in a warm embrace. As she relaxed more and more, she began to snuggle into him just slightly with her cheek, though he was sure she was unaware of it. Allowing himself a few moments of selfishness, he indulged and continued to drop gentle kisses on top of her head.

Moments earlier, he had tried determinedly to convince himself that he was doing it to comfort her, but the devil-on-the-other-shoulder had kept telling him he was taking advantage of the situation. He'd had a vague thought in the back of his mind that his actions were just as much a comfort to him as they were to her, as the events of the evening had been hard on him as well. He had always been a tactile person, and while he knew that Scully was not, he also knew that she would speak up if he was making her uncomfortable, even in her present condition.

As if reading his mind, Scully let out a contented sigh and nuzzled his chest once again, banishing his previous thoughts from his mind. Unfortunately, it also cleared the way for thoughts of a completely different nature, and while he had been down that road many times before, it did make him feel as though his motivation was questionable. That, and the object of those thoughts was sitting in his lap, which could easily lead to an incredibly awkward situation if he wasn't careful.

'Tactile-schmactile,' he thought sarcastically to himself. No matter, he figured it was time to get her back into bed.

"How you feelin' Scully?" he asked softly, lifting his right hand to tuck a stray auburn wave behind her ear.

"I feel ok. Tired, but ok." It was vague, but at least she hadn't used the 'f' word. Mulder had been secretly fantasizing about ridding the word 'fine' from the English language for years now.

"Think you'll be needing the little girls room again, or shall we see about getting you back to bed?" He had asked the question with a serious tone, but if she had been facing him, he would have waggled his eyebrows at her as a tease.

Her response, however, threw him completely off-guard. "Mulder, you've got a one track mind," she bantered. He smiled at her remark. She knew him far too well. "Can you help me up?" He carefully moved with her, untangling his arms from around her and supporting her as they both got up off the floor and rose to a standing position. Now completely independent of her partner, Scully began to sway very slightly, but enough to warrant Mulder's support once again.

"Woah! Easy there, Scully," he said, taking her by the shoulders to help steady her. He looked into her eyes, blue once again, but still lacking their brightness. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just a little dizzy. I think I stood up too fast."

"Take your time," he told her, giving her a moment to get her balance, watching her closely as she righted herself. Her eyes were closed and she was putting forth a great effort to stand still. "You ready?" She nodded, keeping her eyes closed, then opened them as he guided her back to his bedroom.

He pushed the covers back, and then held her arm as she climbed into his bed. After she was settled, he sat down on the side of the mattress and pushed some of her hair back behind her ear once again. Her eyes had closed as soon as her head had hit the pillow, and though he wanted her to get her rest, he knew she needed to get some fluids in her system.

"Scully, you think you could try eating some more soup?" he asked softly.

She nodded and moved to sit up while Mulder reached for the bowl on the nightstand. He handed it to her and watched as she ate several spoonfuls. To say he was relieved would have been an understatement. It had been several days since he had seen her eat anything, and she was practically inhaling it.

"Slow down, Scully," he encouraged through a smile. She obeyed and took slower sips, but even at the reduced pace she polished the bowl off quickly.

"Good?" he asked, taking the bowl from her and placing it back on the nightstand.

"Yeah," she replied through heavy-lidded eyes.

"There's plenty more if you want it," he told her, standing up to help her lie back down and pull the covers up over her.

"Maybe later." She was lying on her side, barely able to keep her eyes open.

"Scully, before you go to sleep, I wanna take your temperature again. I'll be right back." He picked the empty soup bowl up and headed for the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and some more Tylenol from the bathroom before heading back to his partner. Walking back into his room, he stopped in the doorway to look at her, reassured by her peacefulness.

She had to have lost at least 10 pounds over the course of the past two weeks. She was a small woman to begin with, but now she was even tinier, frail almost. A light layer of sweat shined on her pale skin once again; her hair was strewn about in wild waves; she was dwarved by his clothes. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Picking up the thermometer off the nightstand, he roused her once again, as she had fallen into a light doze, and sat on the side of the bed. "Here we go, Scully, one last check of your temp and you can go back to sleep." She complied and let him place the instrument under her tongue, both of them waiting for the beeps. When it sounded, Mulder reached for it.

"101.4" he read, allowing relief to sweep over him and a small smile of reassurance to flash at his partner. It was still higher than he would have preferred, but it was an excellent start, in his opinion. "Will you take some more Tylenol?" He handed her the pills and the opened water bottle. She had likely purged her system of the first round of medicine when she had thrown up earlier. He took the bottle back from her when she was done, placing it on the nightstand where the soup bowl had been.

Scully was struggling to stay awake at this point. He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, linger for a bit longer than he probably should have. Her skin was now noticeably cooler than before, and he whispered in her ear. "Get some rest, Scully."

With that, he tucked her in once more, pushed yet another strand of flowing hair behind her ear, and left her to dream.

***


	9. Chapter 9

Several hours later, Mulder lie on the soft black leather of his couch, wide awake despite the late hour. His body was tired, but his brain wouldn't shut off. He was used to this kind of insomnia and had several tricks he usually employed to alleviate the symptoms and lull himself to sleep for a couple hours a night. Sci-fi B-movies usually did the job, and when it didn't, he turned to porn. Mulder knew most men watched it for the sexual gratification, and while he did to a certain degree as well, it was mostly just a distraction from the real world, a place where he could get away, numb his mind.

Escape.

Forget.

Even if it was only temporary.

With his partner in the next room, however, he couldn't bring himself to turn it on. Instead, he had been lying in the soft glow of the side lamp, eyes closed in an attempt to rest. Scully had been sleeping for a couple hours at this point, and he had gone in to check on her a few times. Her fever had dropped to 101.1 in that time, and he had gotten her to drink a glass of water over the course of those hours. He could tell she was starting to feel much better, in spite of feeling so tired, and that her flu symptoms were beginning to subside.

He was hopeful that after a getting a good amount of sleep, she'd be able to fight this flu off in a few days. He was also hopeful, though perhaps unrealistically, that she would stay at his place while she did so. He knew that if she were to insist on going back to her apartment, he'd be worried sick about her and fighting the temptation to call her every hour.

He'd seen her sick, and he'd seen her traumatized by a case, but never at the same time. Knowing she was in any kind of pain tore him up inside, but this combination was almost more than he could handle.

"Mulder..."

He jolted to a sitting position and looked towards his bedroom. Scully stood in the doorway, hair tousled in waves, his clothes hanging on her tiny frame, despair written on her face. She had startled him, and he could do little but watch her from the couch, unsure if she was feverish again or not. "Mulder--was it... was there more I could've done?" she managed, voice strained under a barely-contained sob.

Mulder wasn't entirely sure how he had gotten to her, but he was certain it involved a bending of the time-space continuum. "God, Scully," was all he could manage at the moment. He found himself wishing fervently that he had shot Sutton when he'd had the chance. He had seen her rattled by cases before, but nothing had ever affected her this deeply before.

He wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, and with his right hand gently drew her head towards him, her cheek coming to rest against his chest. He could feel the heat of her skin under his hands, and while it still seemed a little too warm, he knew instinctively it wasn't anywhere near as warm as it had been. Speaking into the top of her head, he answered her as calmly as he could, fighting the flat-out rage he felt towards the sick bastard that had caused all of this.

"No, Scully, absolutely not," he stated emphatically. "You did everything you could." She remained quiet, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist, seeking comfort and support.

Not long ago, they had been in a similar position, he terrified of losing her to cancer and she afraid for what losing the battle would do to her partner. Even more recently, an embrace shared in his hallway as they faced the prospect of being separated and shut down. They had almost kissed then.

Almost.

And, oh, how he had wanted so desperately to kiss her. In that moment and each one since. He'd been sensing the carefully constructed walls, the barriers that had been built up over their six year partnership, begin to break down over the past year or so as she'd been more accepting of his strength in her weakness, as rare as those occurrences were.

He knew she trusted him with her life--had known that from essentially the first case they had investigated together. That kind of trust was a necessary part of their work. He wanted her to trust him with her mind, her heart. He felt as though this could be a rare opportunity to get her to do just that.

"Come on, Scully," he said, guiding her back to his bedroom with a hand on the small of her back. "Let's go lie back down."

She put up no resistance, and in fact almost seemed relieved to be going back to bed.

As she got back into the bed, Mulder lifted the covers up over her. He lied down on top of the comforter next to her and with a "c'mere," pulled her close once again.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked softly, genuinely wanting to know, and at the same time, stalling while he tried to think of a way to bring up Scully's feelings regarding the case.

With her head tucked under his chin, Scully nodded. "Much better. Just tired and a little achy."

"Good," he stated simply. "I was pretty worried there for a while; you were pretty out of it."

"Mmm. I don't remember much of what's happened today," came her reply.

"I'm not surprised," he responded. "Your temperature got up to 103. I was seriously contemplating throwing you in a snow bank outside to cool you down," he joked.

"Snow bank? Is it snowing, Mulder?"

He chuckled at that. "You really don't remember too much about today--my guess is it's up to about 4 inches at this point; the National Weather Service is predicting an accumulation of a foot and a half over the next 24 hours."

She hummed in acknowledgment, nuzzling closer into Mulder's chest.

They lied in comfortable silence for several moments before Mulder spoke again. "Scully, what DO you remember from today?"

"I remember... feeling cold?" It was vague, and she seemed very uncertain, but it was something. She still sounded exhausted, and he rationalized that that might be playing into her memory lapse as well.

"But you don't remember how you got here?" He was prodding incredibly gently, not wanting to upset her.

"No."

"Do you remember... soaking in the bathtub for a while?" he asked, almost afraid that he would evoke an unpleasant memory from that experience. She pulled back just slightly at that, enough to look him in the face, giving him the famous Scully-eyebrow.

He simply smiled at her empathetically. "It's ok. I was a perfect gentleman, I promise." She seemed satisfied with his answer and resumed her former position, cuddling back into him. 'Keep that up, Scully, and I won't be a perfect gentleman for much longer,' he thought. He kept talking in an effort to keep his mind off of inappropriate thoughts. "So I take it you don't remember hallucinating either?" he asked.

"Hallucinating?" She pulled back out of his arms once again, this time further, a look of alarm crossing her features and eyes beginning to well with tears.

"It's ok, Scully," he said, reaching a hand to caress her hair softly.

"What did... what did I say?" She was hesitant but curious.

"Christ,' he thought. 'How in the hell do I answer this?' "You were uh, you were hallucinating about Sutton." Enough to be truthful, but not enough to be too much.

"Oh," she said softly, her face falling. He could tell from her tone of voice and body language that she wanted to drop the subject. Guilt was written all over her features, and he couldn't take it anymore. Taking a chance, he told her what was on his heart.

"Scully, I want you to understand something, and this is important." He pulled away from her this time and looked directly into her eyes as he spoke. He spoke gently, yet decidedly, hoping he could assure her that she had performed phenomenally on the last case. "You can't blame yourself for anything that happened up there. I won't LET you blame yourself. Sutton is a psychopath, and he is the ONLY person responsible for what happened. Scully, it's because of you that he's locked up where he can't hurt any more children. You SAVED lives, and you should be proud of the work you did. I know I am. I don't think I've ever been more proud of you"

By the time he finished, tears were streaming down her face once again. For a second he regretted saying anything at all. Until she practically hurled herself into his arms and clung to him with every ounce of energy she possessed. Automatically, his arms wrapped tightly around her and he held her close once again.

Through her quiet tears, he he heard her whisper. "Thank you, Mulder."

Relief flooded through him. He could tell that his words had helped ease some of her guilt. If nothing else, it was a start, and for the first time since they'd been back from Minnesota, he felt like he could sleep easily, knowing she was doing better physically and emotionally. He still wanted her to talk about the case, knowing such a traumatic event wasn't easy to shake. Whether it was with him or an FBI therapist didn't matter to him, just as long as she did it.

Very quietly, very tentatively, he spoke. "Scully, when you're feeling better, I want you to talk to someone at the Bureau about all this."

When she didn't reply right away, he panicked. "On your own terms, of course-- I can't force you to do it, but I think it would be beneficial--"

"It's ok, Mulder," she interrupted. "I'll talk to someone, when I'm ready. I just need some time." Once again, relieved, Mulder was grateful his partner was open to the suggestion.

They lied in comfortable silence for a while, Scully's tears subsiding.

"You think you can get some more sleep?" he asked after several minutes passed. She nodded in affirmation and he started to get up to move back to the couch.

"Mulder, would you... would you stay with me?" she asked almost timidly. He was surprised, but more than happy to oblige.

"Of course. Now get some rest, Scully." Once again, she nodded, and it wasn't long before she was back to sleep, resting comfortably in the protective embrace of her partner, knowing she was safe in his care.

It didn't take Mulder long to follow, relishing in the opportunity to hold her as he drifted off, satisfied that she, THEY, were headed in the right direction. Headed towards healing.


	10. Chapter 10

When Mulder woke, sunlight was streaming softly in through the blinds in his bedroom. As his eyes adjusted, he lie still, his mind racing, as fast as it could in present circumstances, to figure out if he had drempt the events of the past several hours. He was almost positive he had fallen asleep holding his feverish partner in his arms just hours earlier. The hollow ache he now felt in his chest, and empty arms, told him instinctively that he had done just that. However, Dana Scully was nowhere to be found. Not in his bedroom at least.

Still clad in his jogging pants and gray t-shirt, he rolled out of bed and started for the living room, narrowly avoiding the running shoes he had left on the floor by his bedside. He was tentative. He was terrified that he would discover one of two things: either that his partner had woken before him and bolted, or that she had never been here in the first place. The first scenario meant the walls were being reconstructed. The second meant they hadn't been chipped away at in the first place.

He took a deep breath and walked out the bedroom door. He almost cried out with relief at what he saw.

Bundled up in his Navajo blanket, sitting cross-legged on the leather couch was his partner, watching the Weather Channel at a low volume, a plate of plain toast and mug of chamomile tea in front of her.

She turned and noticed him just as he was about to make a crack about her bedhead. "Hey," she smiled softly. "I hope you don't mind, Mulder. I helped myself to a few things," indicating the food and drink.

"Mi casa es su casa, Scully," he said casually, still in disbelief that she was still actually at his place. And that she had found something edible in his kitchen. He sat down next to her on the couch, glancing at the television screen as he did so. The forecast appeared to call for several more inches of snow, adding to the foot that had already fallen. Major power outages were being reported all throughout the area, mostly north and west of D.C. proper, Georgetown being one of the hardest hit neighborhoods.

"How you feelin' this morning?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"I feel a lot better, actually," she said, taking a sip of tea and looking back at him. "I think the worst is over."

He wasn't sure if she was talking about her physical or emotional symptoms, or both, but he had to agree. "This is the first time I've seen you eat in days," he answered. As he spoke, he lifted his right hand to feel her forehead. It was still slightly warmer than it should have been, but noticeably cooler than the last time he had checked. He was overjoyed to see her eating something willingly. "Although I can't guarantee you won't be experiencing flu-like symptoms brought on by food poisoning after eating that toast." He hadn't been to the grocery store since returning home from Minnesota, and anything she could have scrounged up in his cupboards would have to have been at least two and a half weeks old.

She chuckled slightly at his words. "I found a loaf of bread in the freezer. It didn't look like anything was growing on it yet, so I decided to take my chances."

"You're the scientist. But don't say I didn't warn you," he teased, getting up to make himself some toast as well. "What's the forecast, Dr. Scully?" he called to her from the kitchen, pulling out the bread and jam from the refrigerator.

"More snow. Lots of it," came her reply. "They're saying over 30,000 homes are without power because of the storm. Looks like northern Virginia is okay though."

"There's a joke about sleeping bags in there somewhere, Scully. I just can't find it." She chuckled again, and he could have sworn he saw a faint blush creep into her cheeks for a split second. His breakfast prepared, he sat back down on the couch and started eating while Scully sipped slowly at her tea. After several moments, she spoke.

"Thanks again for taking care of me, Mulder," she said quietly.

"It's no problem, Scully," he answered her, wondering when she would start to accept that she wasn't a bother to him.

"I'll get these dishes cleaned and my things together and give my mother a call, see if she can come get me."

"Scully, that's not necessary. You're more than welcome to stay here as long as you want." The familiar pangs of not-quite-panic began in his chest once again. He didn't want her to run away from him just as she was beginning to trust him with her emotions.

"Mulder, I just don't want to be--"

"A burden?" he finished for her. "You're not, Scully. Not at all." He looked directly at her as he spoke. "Please don't ever think you are."

After a moment, she nodded, suddenly fascinated by the contents of her mug, seemingly unsure of herself. Just as he was about to tell her to do what she was most comfortable with, she began again.

"You mind if I use your shower, Mulder?"

"I already told you, Scully, my house is your house."

She smiled and got up, leaving her dishes on the coffee table, and headed for the shower.

"Though I do charge by the gallon," he hollered at her, earning him yet another smile as she glared at him over her shoulder on her way to the bathroom.

With that, they both knew she had made her decision to stay.


	11. Chapter 11

Mulder had just finished rinsing the last of their breakfast dishes when he heard the shower turn off. Picking up a kitchen towel to dry with, he went about the task while listening to the soft, albeit muffled, sounds of his partner drying off and dressing in the bathroom. He hoped that she hadn't over exerted herself. She was feeling better, had even eaten actual food just a few minutes earlier, but he knew it would be a while before she completely recovered. Putting the dishes carefully back in the cupboard, he slowly began to realize that he didn't have much in his kitchen to fill them with come lunch time. Or dinner.

Tossing the dish towel over his shoulder, he walked back into the living room and raised the volume on the TV, watching as the weather radar danced across the screen. A large area of dark purple, indicating heavy snow, seemed to be approaching the D.C. area rapidly. Rather than the foot and a half of predicted snow fall, the newest data indicated that up to three feet of snow could accumulate with the approaching storm. Mulder glanced out the window and saw the flurries and flakes as they dropped quickly to the ground. It hadn't actually stopped snowing since it had started the day before. He was going to have to make a trip to the grocery store, and he was going to have to go soon, in order to avoid the heart of the storm.

As he walked back to the kitchen to put the towel back, Scully exited the bathroom, wearing her yoga pants and Navy sweatshirt, her hair still damp and beginning to curl. She looked refreshed and exhausted at the same time.

"How was your shower?" he asked.

"Good," came her reply.

"Tired?" he asked, handing her a glass of water and more Tylenol.

"A bit." She took the medicine he offered and made her way over to the couch, her eyes tuned to the television.

"Well, you rest up for a little while, I'm going down to the market for a few things."

"Mulder?" she questioned, not bothering to hide her alarm. "You can't go out in this, the roads are barely drivable-- they're saying it's going to--"

"I'll be fine, Scully," he interrupted. He didn't want her to work herself up. "It's right down the street. Twenty minutes, tops. Besides, there's nothing to eat here. Unless you want to eat toast for the next three days."

She didn't look convinced, but she relented, lacking the energy to put up a good fight. "Okay, but if you're not back in half an hour I'm calling The Gunmen and giving them permission to hunt you down, carte blanche."

He chuckled as he got his coat and boots on. "Understood. Want anything special?"

She looked at him funny for a split second, then seemed to think about his question for a moment. Mulder dared not try to interpret what that glance could have meant, but he could have sworn--

"Some non-fat vanilla ice cream and more chamomile tea," she requested, cutting his train of thought short.

He nodded in acknowledgment and grabbed his car keys. "I'll be back soon," he told her, walking out the door and locking it behind him.

He blindly jammed his key entered the lock twenty-eight minutes later, carefully juggling the several bags of groceries that hung from his arms. He was certain he was about to lose all circulation in his entire upper body when he felt the key slide into the lock, twisted it, and let himself in to his apartment.

Completely oblivious to the commotion and, once again, sound asleep on his couch, Scully lie wrapped up in his Navajo blanket. It was an endearing sight, and though weight of the groceries was turning his arms blue, he stood for a moment and took it all in.

Not for the first time since their partnership began, he was struck, quite suddenly, with how attached he was to this woman. She had started out with him as a spy, he had been sure. Sent in by the higher-ups to take notes and file reports on his activities; to do their dirty work and shut him down. He had never been more wrong. He had quickly discovered her integrity; her tenacity; her courage. It had been gradual, but his quest had eventually become hers as well. Not because the Bureau had assigned it to her; not because he had thrust it upon her, but because she was just as stubborn as he was, at times more so, and because she too had a desire for Truth. She had risked her career, her relationship with her friends and family, and her life for this quest, at times coming far too close to ending up on the losing side. He had told her once that he owed her everything, and it was true.

Before he collapsed, he walked as quietly as he could into the kitchen and set all of the grocery bags down. Not having much in the way of culinary skill, he had picked up several items that were ready to eat or easy to assemble. He had tried to stick with some bland food items as well, knowing his partner was still recovering from a stomach ailment. Among other things, this included fruit, cereal, instant oatmeal, several frozen dinners, saltine crackers, orange juice, sandwich fixin's, and even some non-fat yogurt for Scully. Her ice cream and tea had been purchased as well. He was glad he had gone when he did, and that he had gotten a good amount of groceries. If the forecast was correct, and the current weather was any indication, things were only going to get worse. Much worse.

After putting all of the groceries away, Mulder walked back into the living room. He paused by the couch and tucked an errant strand of Scully's hair behind her ear, causing her to stir just slightly. He brushed her forehead in doing so, and noticed it was still slightly warm, though nothing like it had been the night before.

"Mmm. Mulder?" she asked sleepily.

"Hey. You won't have to send the search party after all, Scully." Rather than sitting up, she continued to lie on the couch as Mulder crouched down next to her. "You feel okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered. "Just tired."

Hiding a cringe, he nodded. "Go ahead and take a nap."

"I can go back into the bedroom, Mulder."

"No," he replied. "Stay."

And for the second time, she did.


	12. Chapter 12

'Christ.'

That was just about the only coherent thought Fox Mulder had at the moment. He had turned on his computer to get some work done on a pending case when he had received an e-mail from the Stearns County Sheriff's Office requesting his and Scully's presence at a preliminary hearing for Sutton next week. They had been back in Washington for three days; court dates were usually set weeks or months after an arrest in high-profile cases such as this. He had thought they would have more time to prepare emotionally for the trial. 'Bastard must be invoking his Sixth Amendment rights,' Mulder thought bitterly.

Stealing a glance at Scully, still sleeping peacefully on his couch, he grabbed his cell phone from the desk and walked into his bedroom, dialing Skinner's home number. His boss answered on the third ring. "Skinner."

"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you at home on a Saturday, but it's urgent," Mulder began.

"Agent Mulder. Is it Agent Scully? I've been trying to reach her and can't get through." Mulder could here the genuine concern in the older man's voice.

"No, Sir, she's here at my place. Her power went out yesterday and she's been here since."

"How's she doing?" Mulder was sure that Skinner had been just as skeptical when Scully had insisted she was fine upon calling in sick yesterday. Wisely, the A.D. hadn't pressed her for details, and instead had told her to rest up and get well. The barely-disguised anxiety in Skinner's voice confirmed Mulder's suspicions.

"She's hanging in there. Her fever broke late last night, but it was touch-and-go for a while." There was no need to get into the nitty-gritty, Mulder reasoned. "Sir, I'm calling to ask you a favor."

"What can I do for you, Agent Mulder?"

"I've just gotten an e-mail from the Stearns County Sheriff's Office asking that Scully and I appear at a preliminary hearing for Wayne Sutton next Thursday. I'm wondering if you'd be willing to contact that office and request that we submit an affidavit instead, given Agent Scully's health at the moment." It was something of a stretch, but he'd seen Skinner agree to far crazier things before.

After a brief pause, Skinner spoke. "Yeah, let me see what I can do." At those words, Mulder felt a great deal of tension ease out of his shoulders. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes in relief. Nothing was guaranteed, but Mulder knew an affidavit would hold up in a preliminary hearing just as well as sworn testimony, and coming from an Assistant Director of the FBI, it would be unusual for the Sheriff's Office to deny the request.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Take good care of Agent Scully."

"I will, Sir."

Mulder heard the soft click as his boss hung up the phone, grateful for his help and understanding. He was also grateful, as he peeked in on Scully, still sound alseep, that his partner hadn't heard that conversation. He knew she would be furious if she knew what he'd just done. She was an adult of course, and could make her own decisions, but Mulder was certain that going back to Minnesota so soon would not be in her best interest. For several reasons.

He sat back down at his desk and opened up a new word processing window, preparing to type up his statement for the Stearns County court. After taking several moments to organize his thoughts and attempt to brush aside his anger, Mulder began to type the document he would submit as his sworn testimony. He worked quickly, efficiently, and matter-of-factly. He had written up enough of these to have the format and style down; it was just a matter of including all of the details and making sure the timeline was correct. After nearly forty-five minutes and two read-throughs, Mulder was satisfied with his work and clicked the 'save' button. He made a mental note to remember to e-mail it to Skinner and fax him a hard copy by Monday morning in order to appease the Minnesota court. At the moment, he was trying to forget that he was going to have to get Scully's signature on the document along with his; that she would have to read what he just wrote. Whether appearing in the courtroom in person or by sworn statement, it seemed to Mulder there was no way to avoid bringing up the events of the past couple weeks with his partner.

Mulder switched off his computer and headed towards the kitchen to make himself lunch. As he prepared a sandwich, his thoughts strayed back to the case he had just begun looking into earlier in the day. It looked interesting, and he was on board. Knowing his partner, though-

"Mulder?"

He was startled to hear her voice. Right away he was struck by the way she sounded. Tired and somewhat urgent.

He left his plate in the kitchen and made a beeline for the couch, asking "Scully? You okay?" as he walked over. lying on her side, her eyes were closed and her brow was furrowed. Sweat was beading at her hairline and once again she looked pale. Wrapped snuggly in his blanket, he attempted to loosen the edges from underneath her. He felt her forehead, already knowing what he would discover. She was warm again, much more so than she had been just an hour earlier. His heart sank. He crouched down next to her and brushed some hair behind her ear as he spoke. "Scully, I'm going to go get the thermometer. Sit tight for me, okay?" She nodded in response.

Mulder soon returned with the instrument and crouched back down on the floor. "Alright, Scully. One more time." She complied easily, her eyes still tightly shut. As they waited for the beeps, Mulder continued to stroke her hair in an attempt to soothe her. He wanted to ask her how she felt, what he could do, but would have to wait until the thermometer was out of her mouth. It finally beeped, and he quickly removed it an looked at the display.

Back up to 101, on the dot. While not seemingly high on its own, the fact that it was rising again was not good. "Scully, your temperature is going back up." He could see the frustration make its way across her features and she pulled her arms out from under the blanket and covered her face with her hands. "I'm not a doctor," he continued, stating the obvious but in a way defaulting to her expertise. "But I know enough to know that that's a bad sign."

Hands still covering her face, Scully finally spoke, her voice gravelly and lethargic. "What's my temp?"

"101. Maybe we should get you to a doctor." The words were out of his mouth before he had even thought them. Had he actually used his brain before he had spoken, he probably wouldn't have uttered that last sentence, but he was glad he had.

"No, Mulder," came the out-right refusal that he expected. In truth, he would have been terrified had she agreed with him, but it seemed as though they were running out of options.

"I just want to make sure you're alright. You've got a recurring fever and flu symptoms. Aren't those signs of pneumonia?"

She began to rub her temples as she answered. "They could be. But it could also be nothing more than the flu."

"Let's hope for the latter," he said. "I'll make you a deal, Scully. We'll wait it out for now, but if you aren't feeling better in a couple hours, we'll go see a doctor."

"Mulder..." she half-whined. He could tell she wanted to argue with him but knew she had no logical basis. Or the energy to do so.

"I'll get you some more medicine and a glass of water," he replied, standing up and heading for the kitchen. "You wanna try eating something? We've got bananas, crackers, yogurt. I could whip you up a Denver omelette," he joked, attempting to lighten the mood and change the subject before she could protest some more.

"Yogurt?" she questioned, sounding surprised. She sat up slowly and leaned back, resting her head against the soft leather of the sofa.

"Non-fat. And in three flavors: vanilla, strawberry, and, my personal favorite, plain." That earned him a small smile.

"You never cease to amaze me, Mulder. Plain yogurt sounds good." He grabbed the yogurt container, a spoon, and a glass of water from the kitchen. Placing the items on the coffee table, he strode quickly to the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of Tylenol. As Scully ate, Mulder finished making his own lunch, a turkey sandwich and crackers, and sat down next to her to eat it.

They sat in companionable silence as they ate, Mulder sneaking a glance at his partner every now and then to make sure she was doing alright. He almost laughed out loud at the thought of the injuries she would inflict upon him if she were to find out just how much he wanted to coddle her. He did allow a small smile to cross his features as he thought about Scully playing doctor to patch him back up from those injuries.

"What's so funny?" she asked, startling him mid-thought.

'Busted.' "Nothing. Just glad you're eating something." It wasn't a complete lie; he was glad she was voluntarily eating. It would do neither of them any good to confess what he had really been thinking.

"Hey Scully?" he began, changing the subject. She turned her head to the right, looking up at him with big, questioning blue eyes, pulling the spoon out of her mouth. "When you were a kid, what did you guys do on snow days?"

Looking back at the yogurt container and dipping her spoon back in it, she smiled softly. "Mulder, I grew up in San Diego. We hardly ever even had rainy days." She looked back up at him, swirling her spoon in the yogurt. Mulder nodded slowly.

"Probably a good thing. At least for your mother," he reasoned.

"Four redheads under one roof, with my father out to sea the better part of most years? Yeah, I'd say it was a good thing. I'm sure we would have eventually killed each other," she chuckled lightly. She put another spoonful of yogurt in her mouth and looked back at her partner, who was grinning at the thought of all four Scully kids going at it. "What about you, Mulder? What did you do on snow days?"

Mulder took a sip of his water after finishing off the sandwich he had made. "Once we could convince my mom to let us go outside, we would always go sledding in the street. Our neighbors down the road had a pretty steep driveway that would give us a good running start, and if you hit it just right, you could launch yourself off the curb and get a good three or four seconds of hang time. One year we built a snow fort. Filled that sucker full of snowballs up to our knees."

Scully was looking at him thoughtfully, a slight grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. He could tell she was trying to imagine him as a kid, sitting on a toboggan and hanging on for dear life as he sailed through the air. "I'm trying to picture that sledding scenario, Mulder. It's a wonder you're still alive. And that _your mother_ is too." He would have been slightly freaked out had she not given voice to his thoughts thousands of times before. Sometimes they were so in sync it was downright... well, spooky.

He smiled at her and nodded towards the window. "If it keeps snowing like this and you get to feeling better, I can do a demo out there for you. Though I can't guarantee I won't seriously bust my ass in the process."

She giggled a little at that, and his heart leapt. They so rarely indulged in normal conversations about their personal lives; it was a small chip, but it was progress in tearing the walls down. He also hoped it would lead her to be forthcoming when it came to dealing with the aftermath of the Sutton case.

"Maybe we can work out a 2-for-1 deal at the ER if you do," she joked.

"Nah," he shook his head. "It won't come to that. We're gonna have you feeling better in no time, Scully. She looked down at her yogurt cup once again, still about a quarter full, and nodded in acknowledgement. "Can I get you anything else?" he asked.

"No, thanks, Mulder. I think I'm just going to lie back down for a little while."

"I think that's a good idea," he replied. He grabbed her yogurt and set it on the coffee table, then helped her lie down and covered her up with the blanket once again. He gently kissed her on the forehead once more. "Get some rest."


	13. Chapter 13

He should have prepared for this eventuality. He knew better. He was a trained agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation; he had been taught to expect the unexpected and take any necessary measures to protect not just himself, but his partner as well, to the point where it was second nature when they were out in the field. However, perhaps lulled by the comforts of home and a false sense of security, it wasn't until it was too late that Fox Mulder found himself scrambling to formulate a plan.

His power had gone out.

For the first five minutes, he calmly walked from room to room in his apartment, flipping switches and pushing buttons to see what, if anything, still had any juice, and in hopes the power would come back on. After ten minutes, still relatively calm, he slowly paced back and forth in his kitchen, trying to reason that it was just a matter of time before the power company got everything up and running again, that it was just a 'rolling' blackout and there was no way the utility would strand its customers, given the current weather conditions. There had to be crews working on restoring electricity. After twenty minutes, he walked back to his bedroom to throw on a sweatshirt, then back into the living room to make sure Scully was warm enough on the couch.

Still asleep and blissfully unaware of the dilemma facing both of them, she was in fact tucked securely under the blanket and showed no signs of feeling the chill that was starting to creep slowly into the apartment. After thirty minutes without power, Mulder sat in the armchair across from his couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands together and fingers pressed to his lips. He had once, not long ago, demonstrated to his partner his Panic Face, and was fairly certain the same look was written across his features at that exact moment.

Their options were very limited. With the snow accumulation as high as it was, and conditions expected to worsen over the course of the next couple hours, driving anywhere was highly unadvisable. However, with no heat source in his apartment and Scully's health being questionable, staying put was also risky. There was no guarantee that power had been restored at Scully's place. He thought briefly about using his cell phone to call her house line to test it, but then realized that, even if it were back on, there was no promise it wouldn't go out again. Chances were that Scully's mother had power at her home, seeing as she lived several miles from the greater-D.C. area, but it was the matter of driving that distance that made him hesitant to load up the car and head over there. The only other considerable option was trying the Gunmen, but that was the last place he wanted to be cooped up for an indeterminate length of time. Scully would probably shoot him again if he even suggested the possibility to her.

If the weather reports were to be heeded, the roads were to be avoided at all costs, save for emergency situations and vehicles. Right before his apartment had gone dark, several weather advisories had flashed across the screen including a winter storm warning, indicating up to four inches of snow was predicted over the next couple of hours. Temperatures were sinking and only expected to get lower. The heart of the storm was about to pass over them. In short, any sort of travel was strongly discouraged.

Rising from the chair, Mulder decided to check Scully's temperature again. If it had gone up from the last check, even a tenth of a degree, he would call for an ambulance. She would be furious, but he wasn't going to wait around for things to get out of control with no way to get her to a doctor. If they were going to go, they would have to go now, while the roads were still passable for emergency teams.

Quietly crouching down next to her as she lie on the couch, Mulder softly began to stroke his partner's forehead. It was still warm, but he would need to use the thermometer to properly gauge the heat. "Scully?" he asked gently.

Her eyes remained closed but her eyebrows shot up as she groggily murmured a "hmm?" much like she had done practically every time he had woken her like this: on planes, stakeouts, in hotel rooms, over the phone...

"Hey sleepyhead," came his reply. "Time to check your temp." Eyes still closed, she simply moaned her displeasure at being woken. His heart ached for her once again, knowing she was exhausted as her body tried to rid itself of this illness and recover from two weeks of hellish conditions. Still, he chuckled lightly and offered her a choice. "We can do this one of two ways, Dr. Scully. In your mouth or-"

"Fine," she interjected, cutting him off and opening her mouth, not giving him a chance to finish his sentence. He was too nervous about the results that the thermometer would show him to come back with a wise-ass remark, and instead sat down on the floor next to his couch, legs out in front of him as his partner kept her eyes closed. He was preparing himself for a fight, had her fever increased, possibly the mother of them all, and was attempting to organize his thoughts and arguments when the instrument beeped.

Scully made no move for the device, and as he reached for it, he seemed to be moving in slow motion. For a split second, he thought about checking to make sure she wasn't carrying her weapon. Grabbing the thermometer, he raised it up and brought it closer to his face to read the display.

"What is it, Mulder?" Her question startled him greatly. He took a deep breath to ease the tension and re-read the results to make sure he wasn't mistaken.

"100.4. It's gone down a bit, Scully." 'Relief' was a word that didn't quite do his feelings justice. Not only was he not going to have to drag her, no doubt kicking and screaming, to the hospital-in an ambulance, no less-she was getting better. At least for now. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Achy." She still hadn't opened her eyes, and actually looked like she was about to fall back to sleep.

"Can I get you anything?" He may have been relieved, but he still felt helpless.

"No, thanks Mulder," she answered, moving from her back to lay on her left side, facing towards the now-defunct TV.

He briefly debated letting her know the power was out, but quickly decided against it. There was nothing she could do about it, and it would only make her worry. She was wearing a sweatshirt and was bundled up in enough blankets, and Mulder knew he could keep her warm enough for now. It was very possible that everything would be back to normal at any moment, so he reasoned that she didn't need to be informed quite yet.

"I'll wake you in a couple hours to take some more ibuprofen. Get some sleep, Scully" He stroked her head softly as he watched her drift off yet again, realizing that he could very well be developing an addiction to watching his beautiful partner doing so. He could only hope that his electricity would come back on soon and that, as the snow began falling more steadily outside, her temperature would continue to do the same.


	14. Chapter 14

As Scully slept, Mulder began to scavenge the apartment, looking for flashlights, candles, matches, extra blankets, and his emergency radio. He knew he had a few extra batteries for the thing in a drawer somewhere, so he fiddled with the dial until he found the National Weather Service's frequency. He kept it at a low volume and left it on the kitchen counter as he set about getting other things together. He went into his bedroom and grabbed the medical kit he had packed at Scully's, bringing it into the kitchen as well. He knew that if the power was still out when it got dark outside, it would be easier to have everything they might need in one area.

Satisfied that he had gathered everything they could possibly need, he sat down at his computer once again, thankful for a back-up battery, to e-mail Skinner a copy of the affidavit he had typed up earlier and to see if any progress had been made regarding the Sutton trial. As his computer booted up, he took a look out the window. The snow was coming down hard. He couldn't quite tell from four stories up, but judging by the accumulation on the sidewalk across the street, it looked like the snow was up to mid-calf. The amount on the street was a bit less, but it was obvious there was no way it was safe to be driving.

He turned his attention back to his partner. Lying on her side, bundled up and soundly asleep, he hoped she was feeling better. There was a slight flush to her cheeks, caused no doubt by the temperature she was running. He ached to lie down next to her and hold her in his arms, like he had the night before, to make sure she was comfortable and warm. He was beginning to feel more and more like he wouldn't be able to keep his feelings for her to himself for much longer. Falling in love with her had been a slow realization that scared him to death. She was his partner, his best friend, and his only trusted confidant. More than that, though, she had, over the course of their partnership, become his heart, his life.

When she had come to his apartment to tell him she had been reassigned to the Salt Lake City office mere months ago, he had been ready to put it all on the line. To tell her that he was in love with her, and that there was no way he could live without her in his life. What he hadn't been able to tell her that day, what he couldn't tell her, was that he was prepared to leave the X-FIles, resign from the Bureau, and pick up and follow her wherever she went. Instead, he was so terrified of losing her that all he could muster at the moment was a confession that he didn't want to continue on without her; that he was indebted to her beyond what he could ever tell her. Before attempting to kiss her.

That kiss. He had lost endless hours of sleep thinking about how close they had come, how he had been able to feel her breath on his lips, the look that had flashed in her eyes right before he had leaned in. How, if that damned bee hadn't stung her at that moment, they could be... well, he wasn't sure what. He was almost positive that she shared his feelings, at least most of them. The only thing holding him back from telling her what was in his heart and acting on his emotions was the fear of scaring her off and losing her forever, though he was starting to realize the chances of that happening were becoming more and more slim.

She stirred softly in her sleep, drawing her legs up closer to her chest and nuzzled the pillow underneath her head. He smiled at the image before him. Her Navy sweatshirt, no doubt given to her by one of her sailor brothers, was well-worn and the sleeves reached far past her fingertips when not pushed or rolled up. Before he had the chance to get up and tuck the blanket back around her, his computer beeped to signal the arrival of an e-mail. He turned around in his chair and, after a few clicks of his mouse, had a message from Skinner displayed on his screen.

In it were two attachments that had been forwarded by the court containing the preliminary hearing schedule and a subpoena ordering him and Scully to testify at said hearing. In the message Skinner had sent with the attachments, he informed Mulder that he had contacted the court officials and, as of now, the two agents could forego the initial phase of the trial so long as they sent in an affidavit and could appear at the official trial.

If the big, beautiful, bald man had been there, Mulder would have kissed him.

Hitting 'reply,' Mulder quickly typed out a response expressing his gratitude to his boss and promising to comply with all requests made by the court in terms of participating long-distance in the preliminary hearing. He also attached a copy of the affidavit he had typed up earlier that day so that Skinner could review it. He clicked 'send' and shut the computer down, feeling like he had done something right for once.

Surveying the apartment, Mulder realized the sun, hidden all day by the clouds, was beginning to sink in the sky. Glancing out the window, the scene before him was almost ethereal. Snow blanketed every surface and sparkled brilliantly in the dimming light. With no traffic on the street below, it was a still, peaceful night, picturesque in almost every way. He knew better though, that the beauty of nature could be entirely alluring on the surface yet incredibly dangerous once that surface was scratched. He wasn't fooled, not for a second, but for just a moment, he let himself enjoy the view before him.

If Scully weren't sick, the evening would be damn-near perfect.

As the sun ducked below the buildings across the street, effectively cloaking the apartment in darkness, Mulder lit a few of the candles he had found and placed them in the living room. It was still very dim in the room, but there was just enough illumination to bathe the space in a soft glow.

Mulder glanced at his partner again, the candlelight dancing across her features and shimmering in her hair. 'As if she could be any more beautiful,' he thought, gazing at her. The flush in her cheeks was still present, but seemed to have gone down. She had more color in her face as well, and even with the soft light, he could tell she looked better. He was encouraged, despite the lack of electricity inside and abundance of snow outside.

He watched from his desk chair as she stirred once again, this time her brow furrowing, and then as she began a violent coughing fit. Her eyes still closed, he got up and grabbed her glass of water off the coffee table and sat down gently on the side of the couch, turning his body to face her. Still coughing and roused by his weight on the cushions, she opened her eyes and he offered her the glass. She sipped slowly, her eyes closed once again, as he watched. He took the glass from her when she was done drinking and set it back down. She shifted slightly on the couch, moving from her back to lie more on her side.

"What time is it?" she asked tiredly.

"I'm not sure," he answered. All of the clocks in the apartment were decommissioned due to the power outtage. His watch was somewhere in his bedroom and he didn't want to fumble around in the dark looking for it. At her perplexed look, he continued. "The power went out a little while ago," he explained. She looked somewhat nervous, but seemed to accept the information. "How you feelin'?" he asked.

"Better. I feel like I slept all day."

"You did," he smiled, reaching up to feel her forehead. It was warm still, as it had been the majority of the day, but didn't seem to be any warmer than it had been earlier. He grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen and shook out two pills, handing them to her. "Feel like eating anything?"

She took the medicine with one swig of water. "Not right now." He nodded. "Mulder, we could go back to my place; see if the power's back on over there," she suggested.

"We could," he agreed, "if there wasn't a foot and a half of snow in the road." She looked startled. "We're supposed to be getting the worst of the storm in the next couple of hours," he continued. "So far it's been pretty steady snowfall, so it's going to get worse before it gets better." Scully closed her eyes as she tried to take in his words. "It could be worse, Scully," he added, attempting to lighten the mood. "I thought about inviting the Gunmen over for a slumber party but the phone died before I had the chance." Despite her best efforts, a smile made its way onto her face. "It's too bad, too," he continued. "Frohike sleeps in his birthday suit." She grimaced and chuckled at the same time.

"I don't want to know how you know that, Mulder," she said.

"No," he answered quickly. "You don't." She looked at him with a smile on her face and he winked at her. He couldn't help it.

She began to move to a sitting position and he helped her lift the blanket while she swung her legs to the floor. Sitting on her hands, she rolled her neck from side to side, sighing as a couple of pops worked themselves out of her shoulders. She yawned and moved to stand up. From his position sitting on the couch, he watched tentatively as she rose, ready to catch her if she lost her balance and fell.

"Do you mind if I take another shower?" she asked.

"No, go right ahead," he answered. She turned and padded off to the bathroom while he got up to snag a couple of the candles from the living room before following her.

"Scully, before we left your apartment, I grabbed your bubble bath, if you'd rather..." He set the candles on top of the sink in the bathroom.

She looked at him with a grateful expression on her face and a small smile. He wasn't sure if he was reading more into it than he should, but there seemed to be something else behind it. "Thanks, Mulder," was all she said. At her words, he went into the kitchen where he had placed her bag and got the bottle, along with a clean pair of yoga pants and t-shirt for her to change into when she was done. He brought the items to her and she gave him another one of those looks. "Thank you," was all she said. He left the bathroom and closed the door, hearing her turn on the water to fill the tub as he headed for the bedroom.

Once there, he stripped the sheets off of the bed and threw them in a pile near the closet. He walked to the linen closet and pulled out a clean set and went about putting them on, working by candlelight. He wasn't sure if she'd want to go to bed after her bath or back to the couch, but he wanted to be prepared either way, and he knew there was no beating a clean set of sheets. Once finished, he went back into the living room to clean up the coffee table and get her a new glass of water.

He brought the radio into the living room to listen to the weather. The reporter droned on about precipitation totals and the immediate outlook, stating that new satellite and radar estimates indicated the major part of the storm would arrive in the D.C. metro area in an hour or so. According to the report, most suburbs and the District itself were without power, but emergency crews were working around the clock, weather permitting, to get it back up and running. Multiple watches and warnings had been issued, including a blizzard warning. Temperatures were expected to drop dramatically and winds had been steadily picking up. The apartment was definitely cooling at this point, but as long as they could stay warm, they would be alright.


	15. Chapter 15

Twenty minutes later, Scully emerged from the bathroom clad in her clean yoga pants and the same NAVY sweatshirt she had been wearing earlier. She carried her old pants and t-shirt in her hand, neatly folded up in true Scully-fashion. As she walked into the living room, Mulder was immediately bombarded by the sweet, subtle smell of lavender and honey, remnants of his partner's soak. He almost swooned as she approached him, overtaken by the scent. In truth, he smelled it almost every day; at the Bureau, out in the field, but to a much smaller degree, often toned down by her clothes, perfume, and their surroundings. More and more frequently, he would catch himself leaning in closer to her when they were working closely at the office; as they leaned down to look at a file together, when she walked by him. He knew it was just a matter of time before she called his bluff or asked him to back off, and was surprised he had gotten away with the behavior for so long.

"You ok, Mulder?" she asked quietly, indicating he hadn't hidden his thoughts well enough. She stood in front of him, still holding her clothes from yesterday, eyeing him worriedly under heavy-hooded eyelids and long lashes.

"Yeah, I just..." he said breathlessly. "Sorry, Scully." There was no way he could explain without making a fool of himself. He gently took the clothes from her hand and took them into the kitchen to place them back in her bag. "How was your bath?" he asked.

To his relief, she didn't press him. "Fine. Thanks again for bringing the bubble bath."

'My pleasure,' he thought. "Sure. You warm enough?" It was definitely chilly in the apartment now, the sun having set a good bit ago, leaving them without any source of heat.

"I think so," she said thoughtfully. "The water was still warm when I filled up the tub."

Mulder hadn't thought about the power outtage's affect on the water heater, but was glad it had stored enough hot water to last her. "I made the bed, and I've got lots of extra blankets," he said. "The weather service said crews are working to get power back up." She nodded, then sat down on the couch. He took a seat next to her. "You feel okay?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks."

"Have you checked your temperature recently?"

"Mulder..." she smiled at him with a smirk on her face and the slightest of glares in her eyes, letting him know he wasn't smothering her yet, but he was pushing it.

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry," he said, recognizing his defeat good-humoredly. "You know it's true what they say."

She turned to him again with a playful, questioning look. He almost swooned again. "What's that?"

"You doctors make the worst patients," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, Mulder. If you think this is bad, you haven't seen anything yet."

He wasn't going to survive this. He waggled his eyebrows at her in a very suggestive manner. "Promise?" he teased. The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, but when she laughed immediately afterwards, he knew he was off the hook. He knew that, one day, if he wasn't more careful, he would let something slip and get himself in trouble. "I'm sorry, Scully. I just want to make sure you're ok."

The look she gave him at those words took his breath away again. Maybe he was reading more into it than he should have, but he could have sworn there was something more than gratitude veiled in her expression. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was definitely something different in her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment before he found his voice. "I'm not sure what you want to do, but you're welcome to the bed again tonight. It'd probably be warmer than the couch, at least."

"Thanks."

"You know, Scully, there's a whole carton of non-fat vanilla ice-cream in the freezer that's starting to melt. Want to get while the gettin's good?" It was a lame attempt to get her to eat something, but he had to at least try.

"It should be okay for a little while, Mulder. As long as you don't open the freezer door. Besides, won't that just make us colder?" Always the rational one, she was.

"Party pooper," he pouted.

She laughed at that, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Party's over, Mulder. I think I'm going to head to bed."

He placed his hand on her knee. "Get some rest, Scully. I left some extra blankets on the bed. Wake me if you need anything." He watched as she got up off of the couch and made her way into his bedroom. She paused in the door frame and turned around.

With the slightest smile on her lips and a soft "Goodnight, Mulder," she disappeared.

He ached to follow her, to at the very least tuck her in and keep watch over her through the night, but he knew she wouldn't exactly welcome the gesture. He was more than happy to have her at his place, to help take care of her while she was sick, and to help her work through the horror of their most recent case, and felt privileged to be doing so. However, he felt like he was slowly going crazy having her in such close proximity to him, both physically and emotionally, and being unable to touch her or tell her how he felt only added to his frustrations. There had been a shift in their relationship over the past couple of days. If he was honest with himself, the shift had been taking place over the last several months, maybe even years.

He had held her while she was fighting her cancer, after Penny Northern had died. Not too long ago, he had confessed to her that she was his one in five billion. They had danced together at a Cher-impersonator concert. She had gone to jail for him, held in contempt of court to protect him while he was in Russia. They had supported each other through the loss of freinds and family members over the years. He had even proposed to her over the phone once, when she was vacationing in Maine. He had almost kissed her in his hallway...

Mulder groaned aloud at the thought of the kiss. Sitting on his couch, he dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes. After a moment, he got up to blow out all of the candles that remained scattered throughout the apartment. With nothing else to do, he brushed his teeth, grabbed an extra blanket out of the linen closet, and bundled up to face a chilly night on the soft, worn leather of his couch. One that would no doubt be spent sleeplessly thinking about his partner.


	16. Chapter 16

He had no way of knowing how long he had been lying awake, his mind drifting from one train of thought to the next. He had been able to hear the wind billowing intensely outside for what seemed like an eternity, and from his spot on the couch he could see nothing but white out his living room window, the snowfall reaching its peak as the core of the storm raged over them. Wrapped up in two heavy blankets, he was teetering on the fine line between feeling warm and cool, rubbing his feet together every ten minutes, relying on the friction to generate some heat in the extremities. Though the temperature inside the apartment was definitely a contributing factor to his inability to sleep, he was more distracted by thoughts of Scully. Whether or not she was asleep, warm enough, feeling well, hungry... The list went on, and on, and on.. and on to things he shouldn't be thinking about, especially given the late hour.

He rolled over on the couch, hugging the blankets closer to his body as he fought off another bought of the chills. It was too cold to risk getting up to check the thermostat, but he was willing to bet a certain collection of tapes that weren't his that it was in the 50s, maybe even 40s. He closed his eyes as he fidgeted restlessly with the blankets, praying that Scully had already fallen asleep and was staying warm. He had to fight every urge in his body to get up and check on her.

As a long-time insomniac, he had embraced several techniques to quiet his busy mind, but he was severely out of practice, usually relying on the television to entertain and lull him to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Now that everything had gone dark, he was going to have to resort to those old strategies if he was going to get any rest whatsoever. He made up his mind to relax all of his muscles, starting with his toes and working his way up, and he slowly began to feel the remaining tension drain out of his body. Once he was relaxed, he started reciting states and capitals in his head.

He was at Frankfort, Kentucky when he heard her.

"Mulder?" Her voice was steady and she sounded calm, but his heart rate shot through the roof nonetheless. Frantic, he hurled himself off the couch and made it to his bedroom door in what seemed like two giant steps, though he couldn't remember his feet ever touching the floor. Not bothering to knock, he opened the door and slowed his pace, willing himself to breathe and not panic.

"Scully?" he eeked out, his voice miraculously conveying composure, a stark contrast to the violent grip his stomach muscles had on him.

She was lying in the middle of his bed, curled up in a tight ball, buried up to her ears under the covers. He could tell immediately that she was just as cold as he was, if not moreso. At the sound of her name, she opened her eyes and found his immediately. Without a word, in one smooth motion she straightened her legs and lifted the covers next to her. In that moment, he couldn't decide if it was an invitation or an order, but he wasn't about to question it.

He carefully got into the bed, gathering the edge of the sheets in one hand and his partner in the other. As he settled, she snuggled in as close as she could to him, shamelessly greedy for body heat. Facing each other on their sides, her head nuzzled just beneath his chin, and his arms encircled her, one of hers coming to rest against his chest. He could feel her trembling from the cold. He was trembling as well, but he was all but certain it was for a completely different reason.

"Jesus, Mulder," she whispered harshly. "It's cold."

"Try to relax," he coaxed gently.

It was an outrageously intimate situation, and they had certainly shared intimate moments before, but he could say without a doubt that this was the closest, in terms of physical proximity, that they had ever been. Oh, he had hugged her before, held her as she cried on an occasion or two after a traumatic case, and even held her close while they battled their way out of Antarctica. But lying with her in bed, holding her in the dark, with both of them under the sheets? This was one for the record books.

As intimate as it was, the awkwardness he had initially expected was not there at all. Perhaps it was because they were huddled together out of necessity, but Mulder had a nagging feeling that it was because it was just so... right. As novel as it was, enveloping her in his embrace, there was a nice familiarity to it; the musky, freshly-laundered scent of his sheets and lavender of her hair, the curves of her body, though he rarely got to touch them, so recognizable to him, and the trust he could almost feel radiating out of her with the sweet warmth of her body.

"Better?" he asked after several minutes passed.

"Mmm," she answered in the affirmative, sleepiness beginning to overtake her. "Much. Thank you."

"No, thank you. I was getting pretty cold out there myself." He unconsciously nuzzled his chin into her hair and tightened his arms around her. "Scully, I'm way off my game. Two opportunities and I still can't think of one sleeping bag joke."

She laughed softly in his arms and rested her check against his chest, sniffling a bit with her runny nose. "Oh, I don't know, Mulder. Who needs a sleeping bag when there's a nice, warm bed?"

He was so completely caught off guard by her quip that he let out a laugh. "You got me there, Scully."

As they lied together in silence, Mulder relished every moment. From almost day one of their partnership, he had felt a strong need to protect this woman and do everything he could to keep her safe. Not that she had always needed it; she was unquestionably the strongest, most independent woman he had ever met, and he had an enormous amount of respect for her ability to take care of herself. More than once, she had saved his sorry ass as well. He couldn't help himself though. Ensuring her health and safety was akin to his own self-preservation, for he knew there was no way he could function without her in his life.

If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he took a great deal of guilty pleasure from the situation. He had often fantasized about holding her as they slept, and while the present circumstances were just a bit different than those he had imagined, he was enjoying it nonetheless. Not the fact that she was sick, but that he could hold her close and protect her from the cold, and that she was comfortable with and had faith in him in doing so.

He allowed himself to completely relax, his nose captivated by the wonderful smell of her hair and the feel of her light, even breathing against his body reassuring him. The warmth generated by their bodies was a welcome outcome, the chills he had been fighting off mere minutes ago completely gone and forgotten. Also gone was the wired feeling he had been experiencing, and he could tell he was starting to drift off with surprising ease. He had never felt more at home in his own bed.

Just as he was beginning to think she had fallen asleep, and he himself felt like he was about to nod off, she spoke.

Quietly, ever-so-softly, "Mulder?" It was barely there.

"Mmhmm?" His eyes remained closed, still hovering on the edge of sleep.

"Mulder, I... I know what happened wasn't my fault." Her tone was so hushed he almost had to strain to hear it. "I know that, that what happened to those children wasn't my fault, but..."

Any hint of sleep immediately left him.

She hesitated, and he could tell she was struggling with her feelings, and to put words to those feelings. He wanted desperately to interject. There was no 'but' about what she had just said. However, he decided to keep his mouth shut and let her finish. She rarely opened up to him, and he knew Sutton had done a number on her, so he was more than willing to hear what she had to say. He tightened his grasp around her, hoping to convey his own feelings to her.

Her voice, still low, had also taken on a connotation of anxiety and sadness. "...Mulder, was there something else I could have done? If I had worked harder, or longer, or... just thought about Sutton's clues a little more, then maybe... Maybe more lives could have been saved."

"Scully, I refuse to believe that. Anyone working this case would tell you that you worked harder and longer than any agent, that you busted your ass on this case." He spoke gently but emphatically. He wanted so badly to look into her eyes as he reassured her, but was unwilling to release her from his arms. "We're talking about a psychopath here. The clues he left at each crime scene were indecipherable; no one, at least no one in their right mind, would have been able to figure them out."

"But they made so much sense once the tests came back from the autopsies," she insisted in exasperation.

"No one expected you to put the pieces together before you had all of them. You worked with what you had, and you did a damn good job, too. If it weren't for your expertise, we'd still be out there looking for this guy. You did save lives, Scully." He was somewhat alarmed as he listened to her, hoping he could make her understand the reality of the situation.

"I just feel like there's more I could have done. With a medical background, knowing what I know about medicine, if I had just been able to work a hunch, think the way you think..."

"Scully, you are an excellent investigator, and it's your attention to detail and meticulous work in the lab that led to Sutton's arrest. There was nothing to play a hunch on, here. We were catching up with him, and you sped that process up by being methodical and using the facts. There was no other way to do it." He wasn't just telling her what she wanted to hear. It was the truth. No other agent assigned to the case, perhaps even in the FBI, could have done anywhere near as good a job as she had.

"I just keep going over it again and again in my head."

"You have to let it go, Scully. You can grieve for the victims, but you can't take Sutton's actions personally, even if his clues were directed at you. Don't let him win."

She nodded against his chest and he swept a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I'm such a mess, Mulder," she said with another sniffle and a soft chuckle of resignation.

"It'll take time. And if anyone's entitled to be a mess, it's you," he told her. 'But you're an awfully cute mess,' he couldn't help but think. "It's been a rough couple weeks. But I really am proud of you, Scully."

She buried her face into his chest as she let out a light laugh of bashfulness. He couldn't see her face, but he was certain that she was blushing.

They slipped back into a comfortable silence, each of them content in their closeness. Once again, Mulder could feel her relaxing in his embrace, her chest rising and falling steadily. There was no other way to describe the way he felt, lying with her in his bed, entrusted to keep her safe and warm and privileged to hear the concerns weighing on her heart: Love. Pure, simple, and overwhelming. He was already in so deep, but he wasn't surprised as he felt his love for her expand that much further.

And just like that, he felt himself being lulled to sleep, his breathing settling into sync with hers.

"Goodnight, Scully," he whispered. He kissed her tenderly on the forehead just before he drifted off to join her in sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

At first, he thought he was somewhere in the vicinity of his mother's flower beds up in Quonochontaug, the soft lavender scent taking him back to warm summers on the sunny beach during his childhood, when his biggest worry truly was being home on time for dinner, as he had mentioned to Scully once. As he worked through the fog that could only induced by a deep, good night's sleep to a more lucid state, he quickly learned that the reality was even better than he had initially thought.

Nestled snugly in his arms and sleeping soundly, his partner's head was still tucked neatly under his chin, his nose resting just above the crown of her auburn curls, shining brilliantly from the sunlight streaming in through the tiny slits in the blinds. As much as he had cherished his summers in Rhode Island, he would trade every last one of them for this single moment. He felt more rested and refreshed than he had in a very long time, and based on what he could tell from their skin-to-skin contact, Scully was no longer running a fever. With any luck, whatever virus she'd been dealing with was a 24-or-so-hour bug.

He wanted to turn around and glance at the clock on his nightstand to see if the power had come back on during the night, but he didn't dare risk a movement that could wake his partner. Holding her like this was too good to be true, and damn it, he was going to enjoy it, whether it was perverted of him or not. With his eidetic memory, the present circumstances were certain to be enough to fuel his fantasies for years, and serve to torture him in the process. Every small touch, each slight caress was never enough to satiate his desires and always left him wanting more. 'Yep. Pervert,' he though to himself. He was beginning to feel like a complete scumbag when he felt her stir.

She nuzzled her cheek into his chest and let out a content sigh, and though he knew she had done it in her sleep, his heart sang. He held her as she dozed softly, enjoying the soft, rhythmic movement of her body against his and the gentle puffs of air that fell against his chest as she exhaled. He wondered idly if this is what his life would be like now had that God-forsaken bee not interfered; sharing his bed with her, getting to hold her whenever he wanted, waking up next to her every morning. Being able to tell her every day that he was hopelessly, deliriously in love with her.

A short time later, she began to move again, this time burrowing in closer to him. He instinctively tightened his grip around her. "Mmm," she hummed, drifting closer and closer towards wakefulness. He was glad she was waking up, but part of him was already mourning the loss of her from his arms. There was no way she'd want to stay like this once she woke.

The way he saw it, he had two options; pretend to be asleep himself or nudge her further towards consciousness. He quickly thought better of the latter, knowing she'd see right through it and potentially kick his ass. Regretfully, he softly nudged her cheek.

"Mmm... Mulder," she mumbled groggily. She began to move a bit more, and when she unintentionally brushed her hips against his, he had to bite back a moan. He could tell the moment that she realized exactly where she was, as she suddenly tensed and pulled away from him, eyes wide with surprise yet not accusing in any way.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he greeted her cheerfully. She shifted to sit up against the headboard but made no move to get out of bed. "How you feelin' Scully?" he asked, looking up at her as he was still lying down.

She still had a look on her face that told him she was trying to get her bearings, but other than that she looked great. Rested and well, as the coloring was back in her face and her eyes appeared more bright and clear than he had seen them in days. Even her hair, wild and wavy, seemed more vibrant than it usually did.

"I feel fine. Good, actually," she added just before he inwardly cringed. "It's not too cold in here now, Mulder. Did the power come back on?"

The temperature was, in fact, much more pleasant. Still slightly cool, but nowhere near as chilly as it had been the night before. "I don't know," he responded, turning to look at his bedside clock now that he knew he couldn't wake her. Sure enough, the bright blue digital display was back on, flashing its incessant 12:00 at him, impatiently waiting to be reset to the correct time. "Yep," he answered, turning back towards her with a grin on his face. "I wonder how much it snowed last night," he said, getting up out of bed and pushing the blinds apart enough to peek outside.

"Are we snowed in?" Scully asked.

"I don't know," he answered. "The roads are covered pretty good, but I can't quite tell how high the snow is. Depth perception is a bit off from four stories up. I don't see any cars driving around, though. Looks like we may be holed up here for a little while." He let the blinds snap back and turned back towards her. She hadn't moved from her sitting position in his bed, which surprised him, but he was glad she was comfortable and not in any hurry to leave.

"Stay put, Scully," he told her, exiting the bedroom and heading towards the kitchen. On the way, he turned the heater back on to raise the temperature in the apartment. In the kitchen, he grabbed a clean plate and glass out of the cupboard, then pulled out a yogurt container from the refrigerator and filled the glass with orange juice. While he waited for two slices of bread to toast, he tore a banana out of the bunch sitting on the counter and rinsed a bunch of green grapes from the crisper drawer. Once the toast popped up, he scrounged for some clean utensils and a napkin and loaded everything onto a tray. Bland enough to be gentle on her stomach but substantial enough to build up her depleted energy and rehydrate her.

Though he had only been gone a couple of minutes, he found her lying back down on her side, facing the door, when he marched back into the room. Her eyes opened when she heard him enter, and she sat right back up, her expression one of combined disbelief and gratitude. "Mulder, what's all this?"

"Food, Scully. You know, that thing you used to eat?"

"Until now I wasn't even sure you had dishes," she quipped, still in shock. She sat up, once again leaning on the headboard, and he set the tray down over her lap, balancing it carefully on the mattress on either side of her thighs.

"Well, contrary to popular belief I do possess SOME culinary skills. Now, I don't want to brag, but I've all but mastered the art of boiling water and using the microwave."

"Watch out, Julia Child," she said, still amazed at the spread he had brought her.

"I hope it goes down okay. You eat, I'm gonna hop in the shower. Can I get you anything else?"

She shook her head to indicate a 'no.' "Thanks, Mulder," she added, grinning up at him ever so slightly.

He set about getting the shower, gathering a clean shirt and pair of jogging pants from his dresser before heading to the bathroom.

As the hot spray of the water hit him, Mulder tried desperately to calm his thoughts. It had been a crazy weekend, and he was pretty sure he had experienced just about every emotion on the spectrum in the last thirty-six hours. Though he had slept well-two nights in a row, no less; a personal record-he was exhausted. For several minutes, he let the water rush over his muscles and soothe them, allowing all remaining tension to wash away with the water. As much as he was reluctant to rinse any remaining Scully-scent off of his skin, he feared it wouldn't be too long before he began to stink up the joint.

He finished showering and turned the water off, grabbing his towel off the rack and drying quickly. He didn't bother combing his hair, instead toweling it off for a few seconds and leaving it tousled and damp. He threw on his jogging pants and clean white t-shirt and hung his towel back up before exiting the bathroom.

He walked back into his bedroom to throw his dirty clothes in the laundry basket, and was surprised to see the bed had been made, and Scully was, like the previous morning, nowhere to be found. He padded into the living room to find her seated at his computer, pouring over her e-mail.

'Shit,' he thought. The e-mail he had gotten from Skinner yesterday requesting their presence at Sutton's preliminary hearing had been sent to her as well. He had no idea how she was going to react. As he got closer, however, he could see that she wasn't reading Skinner's message, but had his affidavit that he had written pulled up on the screen. The tension that had eased itself out of his shoulders in the shower was back in a big way. He hadn't meant to send that to her, but realized suddenly that he must have hit 'Reply All' on accident.

'Stupid stupid stupid!' he chastised himself. "Scully?" He was tentative and terrified.

She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. He couldn't tell if she was upset or not, not even when she spoke. "When did you type this up, Mulder?"

"Uh, yesterday. You were sleeping on the couch." She nodded in acknowledgment and turned back to keep reading. "Scully, if you want to add anything or make any changes, feel free." It was all he could do at this point.

Without looking at him, she replied, "It's fine, Mulder. I see you already sent it off to Skinner anyway." Her ambiguity was killing him.

"I'm sorry that I didn't ask for your input. You weren't feeling well and I wanted to get it sent as soon as possible." Silence, thick as molasses on a hot summer day, dominated the room as she continued reading. "Really, Scully, if I left anything out or something doesn't look right-"

"It's okay, Mulder." She swiveled the whole chair around this time, and as he looked into her eyes he immediately understood she wasn't angry, at least not at him. "Thanks for taking care of it."

He felt as though he had dodged a bullet. He could tell himself that he had done it without her because she hadn't been well, but if he was honest with himself, he knew he would have done the exact same thing regardless of her physical health in order to protect her emotionally. She'd definitely kick his ass if she knew, and wouldn't stop there either. He waited patiently as she finished reading the document and closed her e-mail, shutting off the computer when she was done.

"It's very thorough, Mulder. You did a good job." He was relieved, to say the least.

"Thanks," he said half-heartedly. He didn't feel like he should be complimented on what he had done, but he was in no mood to start an argument. He turned and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a banana off of the counter and plopping back down on the couch. She watched him from his desk as he peeled the fruit, his feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him. Silence once again invaded the room, this time much less oppressive. Mulder ate his banana while Scully continued to sit, facing him cross-legged at his desk. He was down to the last bite when she spoke.

"It's almost not fair," she said with the tiniest hint of a sarcastic laugh, looking down at her hands while she picked at her cuticles.

"What's not fair?" He was once again afraid that she was upset that he had typed up the affidavit without her.

"Wayne Sutton killed ten children, that we know of anyway, and left an entire metropolitan area in terror for weeks." Her voice was hushed, as though she was afraid to let the words out, confess what was running through her mind, her eyes never leaving her fingers. Suddenly, she looked up at him, and he could see the slightest beginnings of tears in her eyes. "Mulder, the sick bastard taunted us the entire time, it was almost like he wanted to get caught. I mean, the arrogance of it all, the pointless suffering, it just... it just blows my mind. Then," she continued, "we finally catch this guy, and we get to send a piece of paper to his trial?" He was speechless, and she looked back down at her hands. "I'm almost disappointed I don't get to look him in the eye while I describe what he did to those kids for the prosecution."

For the first time, Mulder began to question his judgment in asking to be removed from the witness list at the trial. He had never thought that he would be denying his partner closure, an opportunity to avenge Sutton's crimes in some way. Leave it to Dana Scully to be that courageous. Guilt fell like a lead blanket over him, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

"It's an open-shut case, Scully," was all he could think to say in response. "The local law enforcement and FBI field agents should provide more than enough testimony as it is. Besides," he added, "this way we're not giving Sutton the satisfaction of hearing you testify." At least that was the truth. Knowing Sutton had directed most of his clues at Scully, Mulder suddenly realized that it probably was a good idea after all that they weren't going to be physically present during the prosecution phase of the trial. To give that monster even a remote chance to attempt to provoke his partner was unacceptable to Mulder.

She nodded, still looking down at her hands, accepting but not satisfied with his answer. He tamped down the lump in his throat, unable to bring himself to confess that it was upon his request that they wouldn't be appearing. "We'll make sure to testify during the penalty phase, Scully," he threw in. "I have no doubts that the judge and jury will see Sutton for what he is."

Yet again, a familiar silence fell over them momentarily, Mulder unsure of what to say next as he watched his partner, still clad in the yoga pants and sweatshirt from the night before. He still couldn't believe that she had let him hold her all night, even if it was for warmth. He had known for a long time that he didn't deserve her as a partner or friend, and couldn't help but feel he was even more undeserving now.

He watched as she rose from the desk chair to come sit right next to him on the couch, hip touching hip, shoulder touching shoulder; or in their case, her shoulder touching his arm. He couldn't breathe as she let her head drop to rest on his shoulder. Suddenly it dawned on him; as much as he felt inadequate and undeserving, he realized that she needed him every bit as much as he needed her. Rather than taking pride in that knowledge, however, he was humbled, filled with gratitude and a renewed sense of self-worth. He felt as though he might cry-no, bawl-with the enormity of the feelings welling up in his soul, but he somehow held it together. He reached for her hand as he let his own head drop to settle on hers.

It was a strange feeling, one he would never be able to describe, but he knew in that moment that everything was okay. Scully had nipped her flu in the bud, and he knew that, in her own way, she had begun to deal with the aftermath of Sutton's actions. And he couldn't help but feel, with a small sense of accomplishment, that he had been able to help her do both. Perhaps he wasn't so undeserving afterall. The storm truly was over, both inside the four walls of his apartment and outside in the snowy wonderland that D.C. had been transformed into.

Fingers interlaced and resting on the cushion between their legs, he could tell she was smiling ever-so-slightly even before he felt it against his shoulder.

"So you're the expert on snow days, Mulder. What should we do now?" She didn't bother to try and disguise it, and he knew without a doubt he had heard it. There was a hint of mischief in her voice.

'Oh, Scully,' he thought happily to himself, his own smile lighting up his entire face. 'Where do I even begin...'

The End

XxXxXxXx

A/N: I want to thank everyone for taking the time to read this story, especially to those who have left reviews. Thank you so much for your sweet words of encouragement and for prompting me to keep going with this. I hope you all enjoyed it! I may follow up with an epilogue of some sort, but we will see. Thank you again!

-E.G.


	18. Epilogue

Epilogue

Several Months Later...

Justice.

Fox Mulder knew better than to delude himself into believing for even a moment that such a thing existed. He had seen too many things happen, both in life and in his work, to hold fast to such an ideal. Sure, he had solved too many crimes to count, arrested more criminals than he cared to think about, and had seen many of them prosecuted and forced to pay for their crimes.

But justice? He almost scoffed out loud.

Justice would be never having to explain to parents that their young daughter had been kidnapped and murdered. It would mean having the ability to undo the terrifying actions of a madman and restore normalcy to families that have been torn apart by violence.

It would mean never having to watch his partner sit on a witness stand and talk about the things Wayne Sutton had done to nearly a dozen children.

Sutton had already been found guilty of his crimes, convicted on all counts with no hope of ever leaving his jail cell alive. Dana Scully had made it a point to be at his sentencing, and had done nothing short of an amazing job answering every question with complete accuracy and honesty. In her final statement to the court, she had confidently asked the judge for life in prison instead of the death penalty, and, though he understood and respected her religious beliefs, he marveled at her control and compassion as she looked Sutton in the eye while doing so. Mulder himself still harbored a murderous rage toward the bastard, and would have asked to be the one to flip the switch had he been up there. As it had been though, his stomach had been in knots as he mentally relived not only the case in Minnesota, but its aftermath in D.C. He had never seen his partner so weak and vulnerable, and it only made him hate Sutton more.

That snowstorm back when they had first returned from Minnesota had turned out to be the heaviest Washington had seen in decades. Once Scully had completely gotten over the flu, he had somehow convinced her to stay at his place until most of the snow was off of the ground and electricity was restored and reliable in all parts of the city. He had taken the couch, leaving her the bed. They had spent the time holed up in his apartment watching cheesy movies with popcorn and licorice, and making small talk, the occasional card game thrown in for good measure. In the end, his entire collection of Alfred Hithcock movies had been screened, he had heard all about her childhood tortures that came from having two brothers, and he was out a tub of licorice and lunch at their favorite deli, having learned the hard way that his partner was one hell of a poker player. When he had finally dropped her off and gone back home, his apartment had never felt so empty or lifeless. Lying in his bed that night for the first time in days, surrounded by her scent, his head filled with memories of her recent laughter and easiness, he broke down. An ache had filled him so deeply, so profoundly, that it was all he could do to stop himself from picking up the phone or getting into his car to hear her voice, to hold her in his arms again. The only thing that had held him back that night was fear; he was afraid of what he would say to her and how she would react. Even scarier was the growing realization he had come to recently that it was only a matter of time before he told her how he felt. He needed her like he needed air, and he was tired of feeling suffocated.

After a short recess, the judge had summoned everyone back into the courtroom for her final ruling. Those few moments of anticipation had been almost as difficult for Mulder as the ones with Scully on the stand. He watched the back of his partner's head, his seat in the gallery a good fifteen feet from hers with the rest of the witnesses. As the judge began reading her decision, Mulder once again fought the twisting in his stomach.

When the judge unemotionally stated, "Life in prison, without the possibility of parole," and slammed her gavel down, it delivered an odd sense of anticlimactic finality to the case. Everything that could be done within the bounds of the law had been done. Society would view the end result as justice served. But Mulder knew better. He knew that for the families, and to some extent, he and Scully, there would never be justice enough.

As the bailiff led Sutton away, back to the prison where he would spend the rest of his days rotting, people in the courtroom stood and hugged one another. Lawyers shook hands with clients, and police officers began to escort the gallery members out of the courtroom. Scully hadn't moved.

Mulder waited cautiously, unsure of exactly what to do. He watched her silently, noting for the millionth time that day her perfectly styled hair and smart suit. Just as he was about to approach the bar and check on his partner, she slowly stood and turned, finding his eyes immediately.

He had been prepared to encourage her, to remind her that she had done a good job as an investigator. Looking into her eyes though, he knew immediately his reassurances were totally unnecessary. She was confident, cool, and collected, at complete peace with the decision. There was a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth, a bit bigger than what she usually offered. He smiled back, beaming greatly at her. He was proud once again of her courage and tenacity, of the strength of her character. She was as satisfied with the outcome of the case as she possibly could be. Once again, it had been she who had reassured him.

As was becoming more and more the norm for them, no words were necessary. They had grown even closer to one another in the past several months, each feeling more in tune with the other as the days went on. He held his hand out to her and she took it, her tiny hand grasping tightly to his much larger one, and together they exited the courtroom. He carefully stole a glance or two at her, and with each step closer to the car he felt increasingly relieved that the ordeal was behind them and that she had been able to get some closure. It was as if they'd both been holding their breath since the beginning of the case, and they were able to breathe again. He felt better at this moment than he had in months, and he was pretty damn sure he was ready to start living again.

Mulder pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the airport. He was already trying to think of an excuse to hang out with her tonight. He could offer to take her out to dinner, or to get some ice cream. He knew she couldn't turn down ice cream. Maybe inviting her over to watch the Yankee game? Speeding down the interstate, he wondered to himself if she had ever even played the game. He smiled again and turned to look at her once again. She glanced up at him and smiled back.

He'd have to take her out sometime soon and teach her how to hit a baseball.

The End.

EG


End file.
